


Can't Judge a Book by Its Cover

by emluv



Series: Can't Judge a Book [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Community: jim_and_bones, F/M, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emluv/pseuds/emluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Reel Love Challenge at the Jim_and_Bones LJ Community, this fic imagines Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy in the setting of the 1998 Warner Brothers film, You've Got Mail!, which starred Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. Like the film, my story is set in the late 1990s, when internet dating was not yet a common thing, very few people owned a cell phone, and chain bookstores and independents were at war. Takes place between fall of 1997 and late summer 1998, in New York City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Star Trek is owned by the Roddenberry estate, Paramount Pictures, and probably a few others who are not me. You’ve Got Mail! Is owned by Warner Bros. Pictures, and probably a few others who are also not me. No profit made, no infringement intended.
> 
> Parts of this story stick very closely to the plot line of the film, including the occasional iconic line of dialogue--for which all credit goes to the brilliant Nora Ephron--while others are purely of my own invention. 
> 
> Please be aware that there is some swearing over the course of the story. Likewise, there are suggestions of both homosexual and heterosexual relationships, and brief references to sexual activity.

~*~

Leonard McCoy was not, had never been, and would never _become_ a morning person. There were days he honestly didn’t know what he had been thinking starting medical school, assuming he would survive the rigors of going days without proper sleep, never mind suffering through the reality of hospital life had he continued on to become a surgeon as he’d intended. Ultimately, he would have been miserable, or at least damned cranky, and he would have made certain everyone else was miserable right along with him. 

He was much better suited to his current lifestyle. That wasn’t to say he didn’t grumble a bit when the alarm went off in the morning, but it was half-hearted at best, a token effort that stood little ground in the face of the fact that it was 7:45, a very respectable hour to clamber out of bed, and he could already smell the heavenly aroma of coffee wafting from his kitchen just a few feet away--goddamned ridiculous shoebox of a New York apartment--courtesy of the timer on his fancy coffee maker. 

There was a routine, of course. Leonard was nothing if not a creature of habit. He’d smack at the clock to silence it, groan once or twice and let out a few quiet curses, then stretch until he could wrap his hands around the top of the brass headboard, pulling himself up until he felt his spine snap into place. Then he’d exhale audibly, throw back the covers, and drag himself into a sitting position, legs over the side of the bed, feet searching by touch until he found his slippers. A quick visit to the bathroom, then he’d shuffle into the tiny kitchen and pour himself the first installment of his morning fix. It generally took about two thirds of a mug before the coffee hit his blood stream and he started to feel human. He’d down another mug after he was showered and dressed, generally while standing at the kitchen counter and accompanied by a piece of toast or half a bagel with cream cheese if he’d bothered to shop recently, then pour the remainder of the pot into his travel mug. 

Lately, however, he’d been sitting down for that second mug of coffee. It had been going on a few weeks, this diversion from his morning routine that found him taking his cup and his plate over to the small desk that hovered between the sleeping area and the living area of his apartment, and settling down in front of his laptop to check his e-mail. Which, if he had to be honest, didn’t make any sense, because he didn’t really know that many people who were even online, at least not in their personal lives. A few of his friends back in Georgia had computer access at work, but most weren’t interested in personal computers, and the internet, as far as they were concerned, was just one more thing that would distract their kids from their homework. Most days, Leonard was lucky to get a couple of hits in his folder, but still he checked, bright and early every morning, and again in the evenings when he got home from closing up the shop. He logged on and waited somewhat breathlessly for that tell-tale electronic voice informing him he had a message. 

On this particular morning in early October, Leonard sipped his coffee and watched the screen, a small smile tugging at his lips when the little mail flag icon popped up. He set down his mug and clicked on the icon, entering his mail folder. There it was: E-mail from Cap1701. Leonard swiftly opened the message and began reading.

_From: Cap1701  
To: Books_n_Bones  
Subject: Fall in NYC_

_There’s something about running in New York in the fall. Have I mentioned that I run? Yeah, I’m one of those. Most guys I know go to the gym, and I go if it sucks out, but I’m originally from the Midwest and it takes a hell of a lot for me to classify conditions as sucky (though I’ll tell you, when the sanitation dept. goes on strike in August, I come pretty damn close). But in the fall, all the tourists have cleared out and the kids are back in school and everyone’s back to normal pace, hurrying along to wherever they’re supposed to be, and I can just run down streets, through parks, along rivers--doesn’t matter where--and people clear right out of my way, or make room for me to weave through the crowd. It’s like choreography in some extremely complicated dance number. Feels like flying. Next best thing to riding my bike out of town for the weekend._

 

Leonard’s smile faded a bit as he read that last sentence. Just because he hadn’t ended up a doctor, didn’t mean he didn’t have a healthy appreciation for the various ways a human being could get themselves killed needlessly. He opened a blank message and began typing.

_From: Books_n_Bones  
To: Cap1701  
Subject: your apparent death wish_

_Here I thought you seemed like an intelligent man, but if by “bike” you mean a motorcycle, I might have to revise my opinion. Do you know what happens to the human body when it crashes going 60 miles an hour on two wheels? And that’s assuming you took the trouble to wear a helmet. If you didn’t, well, what’s left probably shouldn’t be classified as a human body anymore. Please tell me you meant a good old fashioned bicycle._

_As for the rest, well, can’t argue with you about New York in autumn. Might be my favorite time of year here, or maybe it’s spring. I like them both, even if they are too damn short. I appreciate the in-between temperatures. Not really much for the heat and humidity--reminds me a bit too much of where I grew up, and as for winter, well, to say I’m thin blooded is probably being kind. Haven’t noticed much choreography going on in the streets, except for with the street performers, but it is nice once the tourists are gone. Fewer fools stopping in the middle of the sidewalk just to look up at the real tall buildings, like they’ve never even heard of a skyscraper, forget seen one._

~*~

Jim Kirk had a slight bounce to his step as he approached the construction site on the corner. Plastic tarps flapped over the open doorway and he pushed inside, nodding at the workers busily fitting fixtures into the far wall. 

Before he was ten feet into the building, Spock intercepted him, appearing out of nowhere and pressing a hardhat into his hands.

“Seriously?”

Spock cocked his head. “Christopher would be most distressed if you missed your meeting this afternoon because you were in the hospital with a concussion.”

Jim sighed and donned the bright yellow protective gear. “Fine,” he grumbled, more for show than from true pique. Humming lightly, he pushed past Spock into the center of the expansive open space, making for the sweeping circular stairs that were still no more than a bare framework. He peered upwards toward the second story and noted the exposed wiring hanging from the ceiling. “Electrician coming?”

There was a slight clearing of a throat. “Have you been listening to me at all?” Spock asked.

Jim glanced over at his friend and co-worker. “Sure. I’m wearing the hat, aren’t I?”

Spock shook his head. “As I just mentioned, the electrician has been rescheduled due to a hold up with the permits from the city.”

“What’s the deal?”

“Nothing we have not seen before.”

“Ah,” Jim acknowledged with a nod. City construction was the same everywhere. You greased a few palms, everything went according to schedule. You expected things to fall in place simply because you had filled out the correct paperwork and paid the required fees, you found yourself twiddling your thumbs. “I’m assuming you’ve contacted the proper people?”

Spock raised one eyebrow. “The electrician will resume his duties tomorrow morning. All paperwork will be on hand by then.”

“Great.” Whistling, he took a few dancing steps upward, peering at the rest of the unfinished sheet board. “As soon as the wiring is done, let’s get those plasterers in to take care of this mess,” he commented, waving one hand. 

“Of course. It is on the schedule.”

“Something wrong, Spock?” Jim asked, noticing a certain annoyance in his friend’s tone, though it was doubtful anyone else would have sensed anything amiss.

“Not at all. I’m am simply curious. Did you and Gaila solidify your relationship?”

“Huh? Gaila? What does she have to do with anything?”

“I merely queried because you seem in an unusually good mood this morning, and it was my understanding that you had an assignation with Gaila after work last night. I thought perhaps you had decided to take the next step toward commitment.”

Jim felt his own eyebrows arch toward his hairline. “Gaila and I aren’t like that, Spock. She’s a great girl, we have fun, but there’s nothing serious going on.”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” Jim said firmly. Then, considering the rest of Spock’s statement, he felt his lips curve slightly. “No. I’m just in a good mood, you know? I love New York this time of year.” He looked around. “We’re making great progress here. I think it’s time to announce ourselves to the neighborhood. Put up the sign.”

“Are you certain? You are aware that this is the Upper West Side. They will not be particularly welcoming at first.”

“I know, but gotta take the plunge sometime, Spock. Let’s do it.”

“As you wish.”

~*~

A crisp breeze ruffled Leonard’s hair off his forehead as he headed briskly down Broadway, sipping coffee from his travel mug, and he made a mental note that he needed a trim. The light changed at the crosswalk just as he reached the curb and he hummed happily at his perfect timing. A jogger heading in the opposite direction wove neatly through the tangle of pedestrians, and he found himself watching him, thinking about Cap1701 and his comments about running in New York. Maybe it really was like some kind of a dance, the way everyone seemed to just make room for each other. 

He turned down the side street toward the shop, nodding when he noted Christine Chapel, his right hand and bookkeeper, already waiting out front. She was sitting on the little wooden bench that had been there since long before he owned the store, book open on her lap, her own coffee placed carefully next to her right foot. 

“Good morning,” he said, tugging his keys out of his jeans pocket. 

Christine glanced up. “You’re certainly feeling chipper today.” She tucked her bookmark in place, claimed her mug and rose as he opened the front door and flipped on the lights. A warm glow illuminated the rows of books and the gleam of the polished, honeyed wooden bookshelves. 

“Nice day, that’s all,” Leonard remarked. “I love fall in New York.” He moved through the store into the small back room where he kept the coffee machine--his old one, from before he got the one with the timer--and a mini fridge for employee use. He tucked his bag lunch away and started spooning coffee into a filter. 

Christine had followed him, of course. She put her own lunch--yogurt and an apple, more than likely--into the fridge and placed her book and purse in her usual cubby. “Leonard McCoy, it takes more than some autumn foliage for you to hum walking down the street. So what gives? You hear from Joanna this morning?”

He frowned briefly at the mention of his daughter. “No, nothing like that. Does a man need to have a reason to be in a good mood?”

“You do, yes. I’m not saying you’re cranky, exactly, but you’re certainly not roses and sunshine, either.” 

Leonard turned to find her leaning against the pass-through window, arms folded and head tilted, an expectant look on her face. He sighed, knowing there was no getting out of this. She would hound him until she got an answer that satisfied her.

“Fine. Have you ever met anyone online?”

“You mean on the internet? Like in a chat room or something?”

“Yeah, exactly,” he admitted, suddenly feeling somewhat sheepish about the whole thing. “Look, it’s not what you’re thinking. Not like those porn rooms or whatever. I just…” He ran a palm through his hair, pushing his bangs off his forehead. “It was back on my birthday,” he admitted. “I was feeling a little down, so I went into this room that was supposed to be New Yorkers looking for friendship, nothing more. There was this guy there and we started talking about books and our favorite restaurants and…nothing special, really. Ordinary stuff. But it was so comfortable and…” He glanced up and saw Christine watching him attentively. “It sounds crazy, right?”

“No, not at all. It’s a long time since you’ve made any new friends over the age of twelve,” she pointed out. “And it’s been even longer since the divorce. It’s natural for you to want someone to talk with, someone besides us in the store and parents looking for book recommendations for their kids. This is a good way to start. Just be careful.” 

“It’s not like we’re meeting up for a date or anything,” Leonard said. “Hell, I don’t even know his name. We’ve kept it all very impersonal.”

Christine smiled knowingly. “But you like him.”

He shrugged. “He’s probably straight.”

“Leonard, straight men don’t chat with other straight men online, repeatedly, just for the hell of it.”

The bell rang over the door and a scrawny young man slipped into the store. “Am sorry I am late!” he declared with a thick Russian accent.

“You’re fine, Pavel,” Leonard waved him off. He pinned Christine with a glare. “Not a word,” he muttered.

“My lips are sealed,” she promised. “At least for now,” she added with a grin.

~*~ 

The door, with its gleaming plaque that read Christopher Pike, President, was closed, but Jim only tapped lightly before he let himself into the office. Chris had known him since he was toddling around the farm back in Iowa wearing nothing but a baggy diaper, and had seen him in far worse circumstances since; they never bothered to stand on formalities.

“You’re late,” Chris called out from behind the desk, his back to Jim as he gazed out the window at the Hudson River thirty-five stories down. Distinguished at nearly sixty, hair a mix of blond, light brown and grey, he wore a crisp white shirt with a navy tie, his shirt sleeves neatly rolled to just beneath his elbows. He swiveled toward the room as Jim sank into the chair in front of him.

“Sorry. Needed a pick-me-up.” He lifted his hand, indicating a Styrofoam cup, and brought it to his lips for a quick sip.

“And where’s mine?”

He grinned and raised his other hand from below desk level, brandishing a second coffee. “Light, two sugars, though how you can drink it like that is beyond me.”

“It’s called coffee, regular, for a reason,” Chris admonished, reaching for the proffered beverage. “That’s how most people drink it, not straight up like the sludge you like.” 

“Whatever,” Jim murmured with a wave of his hand. He set his cup carefully on a coaster that had a permanent spot at the edge of Chris’s desk. “So, just came from the new site.”

“And? How’s it going?”

“The usual bullshit, but we’re still on schedule. Should be ready to take merchandise deliveries in a couple of weeks, with opening day November first.”

“You break it to them yet?”

“That the big bad chain store is coming?” Jim snorted. “I told Spock to hang the signage tonight, so get ready for the hate mail.”

Chris sighed. “You’d think we were selling drugs instead of books. I never thought I’d end up feeling like one of the bad guys.”

“Cut it out,” Jim said. “There’s nothing wrong with making money, with wanting to be successful at what you do. And what you do is provide people with huge selections of books at reasonable prices, and an atmospheric shopping experience.”

“I know that, and you know that. But does the Upper West Side?”

Jim shrugged. “They’ll figure it out. There’s not much there as it stands. A little mystery bookstore. Owner is ancient. I suspect he’ll just close up and retire. And one children’s bookstore, Shop Around the Corner. That’s closer. Not entirely sure of the story there. It used to be family owned, but the guy who runs it now has only held the business license for a few years.”

Chris nodded slowly, leaning forward so his elbows rested on the desk, fingers steepled in front of him. “Right. So, hear from your mother?”

Jim grimaced. “I take it that means that you did, too?”

“Husband number five,” he muttered. “I’m not sure why she keeps trying.”

“Not sure why you never do,” Jim mumbled under his breath. “Yeah, well,” he said, voice louder, “that’s just Mom. Not happy unless she’s making someone else miserable.”

“Jim.”

“What?” He rose from his seat, grabbing his coffee as he moved toward the doorway. “I’ll let you know if there’s any change in our progress.”

“I know you will.” Chris sighed heavily. “Say hi to your brother for me.”

Jim waved over his shoulder in acknowledgement and continued out of the office.

~*~

_From: Cap1701  
To: Books_n_Bones  
Subject: star-crossed_

_The man I work for is a long-time friend of my family, and he has been in love with my mother since I can remember. Despite the fact that my father died an entire lifetime ago, and my mother has gone on to remarry and divorce numerous times, he has never made a single move. Most of the time I find this incredibly sad. But then I consider her track record and think perhaps he knows exactly what he’s doing._

_From: Books_n_Bones  
To: Cap1701  
Subject: RE: star-crossed_

_My ex took every goddamn thing that was worth something in our divorce. Left me with my books, my bones, and a half bottle of bourbon. I still can’t imagine feeling brave enough to risk that sort of disaster again._

_But there’s this old couple living in my building. They’ve been married since 1935--more than sixty years--and they still hold hands when they walk down the street._

_From: Cap1701  
To: Books_n_Bones  
Subject: RE: RE: star-crossed_

_So what you’re telling me is, despite getting taken to the cleaners, you’re still a romantic at heart._

_Also, I’m totally calling you Bones from now on._

~*~

_From: Books_n_Bones  
To: Cap1701  
Subject: seasonal reading_

_Some books just beg to be read at certain times of year. The minute it starts to get chilly, I reach for Sherlock Holmes. My dad gave me a collection of the short stories when I was laid up one year with the chicken pox. It was cold and damp out, and I remember lying in bed reading those adventures, being so absorbed in the mysteries that I completely forgot to scratch._

_Do you read anything specific this time of year?_

~*~

_From: Cap1701  
To: Books_n_Bones  
Subject: Nice try_

_Hey, Bones!_

_I pretty much read anything I can get my hands on. Have since I was a kid. Never really changed._

_You ever notice how New York is really just a bunch of little neighborhoods? And they all have their own food smells. Garlic, curries, tomato sauce, fish, coffee, bread baking. I think it would be interesting to have someone lead you through the city blindfolded, while you tried to identify where you are based on what you were suddenly craving for lunch._

~*~

Jim gave a pleased nod as he passed the scaffolding that had been erected outside the new store. The outline of the sign announcing “Pike Books: Opening Soon” had already been sketched into place, and now two painters were meticulously filling in the letters with bright green paint. Continuing past the store, he ducked into the coffee shop on the corner, holding the door open for a good-looking man as he exited juggling a carrier with several to-go cups and a fat, worn paperback. The man mumbled his thanks as he hurried to catch the walk sign, and Jim went to place his order.

~*~

“Did you see it?”

Leonard carefully slid everything he was carrying onto the countertop at the front of the store, making sure his battered copy of _The Complete Sherlock Holmes, vol. 1_ was well clear of the hot beverages with their lids of dubious dryness. “Thanks for opening up, Christine,” he called into the back. “I got your coffee here.” He pulled one of the cups from the carrier tray and turned to Hikaru Sulu, his sales assistant. “Did I see what?” he asked, passing him the cup. “Earl Gray, one sugar.” 

Sulu took the drink automatically. “Did you see the sign? Outside the construction site. It’s right next to Starbucks, you had to have seen it.”

Leonard frowned as he retrieved his own coffee. It wasn’t as good as what he brewed at home, but he’d had a dentist appointment that morning and this would do until he got the machine in back fired up. For whatever reason, the crotchety contraption only produced drinkable results when he was the one pushing the buttons. 

Christine emerged, a frown furrowing her brow. “It’s a Pike Books,” she said. “That’s what’s opening down the block.”

“A Pike Books? One of those big chain deals?” Leonard sat his cup down heavily, flinching when a splash of coffee landed on his hand. 

“The very same,” she replied, peeling the lid off her coffee and blowing gently at the steam that wafted up from the surface. 

“It shouldn’t matter, right?” Sulu asked, his tone doubtful. “I mean, they sell all kinds of books. No way will they have a children’s department half as comprehensive as ours, when that’s all we sell.”

Leonard leaned back against the counter, his gaze traveling around the shop that had been the entire focus of his life since his divorce. At the shelves filled with books. At the framed poster-sized covers for _The Polar Express_ and _Eloise_ and _The Wind in the Willows._ At the hot pink beanbag chair where Jo-Jo always sat when she came to visit.

“No, no, it won’t matter,” he said quietly. “We won’t let it matter.” He stood a little straighter. “Let them come, with their fat discounts and their magazine racks and their coffee bar. The neighborhood kids love coming here, and so do their parents. We’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

He turned to find Christine and Sulu both watching him. “Well, what are you waiting for? Back to work, come on.” He grabbed his coffee and a napkin to wipe his hand and the spot on the counter where he’d spilled. “Let’s get the Christmas flyers out this week, okay, Hikaru?”

“Sure, boss, no problem.”

“We’ll show Pike Books that Shop Around the Corner is a force to be reckoned with.”

~*~

Continued in Part Two


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jim and Leonard come face to face for the first time.

~*~

Jim woke the Saturday before Halloween at his usual time, having somehow lost the ability to sleep late years earlier when he was in college. He threw on his running clothes and descended onto the still-quiet streets of Manhattan for his weekly long run along the Hudson. The air was crisp and lacking the normal cloud of pollution thanks to a brief rain storm the previous night, and Jim made quick work of his eight-mile route, dodging puddles and dog walkers and the occasional homeless person begging for change. He picked up bagels from the deli two blocks from his building and returned home sweaty and feeling virtuous, looking forward to a well-earned morning on the couch with his breakfast and the latest Stephen King doorstop. 

By the time he showered, and emerged dressed in his oldest jeans and a well-washed sweatshirt to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the light on his answering machine was blinking an ominous red. Groaning, he hit the playback button and stood toweling his still-damp hair as his brother’s panic-laced voice echoed through the apartment.

_“Jim, is there any chance at all you could come take Peter for the day? Aurelan’s in bed with stomach flu and my book is due to the editor Monday and I absolutely have to finish revising the last hundred pages before the end of the weekend. Please? Call me as soon as you get this.”_

“Shit,” he sighed. It was the last weekend before the store opened—probably his last free weekend until January, given the proximity of the holidays with all their accompanying parties and assorted insanity. He’d been looking forward to a little time to himself. 

He reached for the phone and dialed his brother’s number. 

~*~

Jim actually loved spending time with his nephew. Peter reminded him of a cross between Sam and himself as children. The five-year-old had his father’s serious bookishness, but Jim’s own fearlessness, and a curiosity that put them both to shame. It seemed like he’d started every sentence with _why_ since he first learned to string more than two words together, but every question was logical and based on the conversation instead of the endless repetition that so many little kids subjected you to, and he always listened earnestly to Jim’s explanations. 

Figuring in for a penny, in for a pound, Jim informed an extremely grateful Sam that he’d babysit for the whole weekend, and so when he arrived at his brother’s third-floor walk-up in the Village, Peter was waiting with his little backpack on wheels, his stuffed bunny--a gift from Jim whom then-two-year-old Peter had instantly dubbed Funny Bunny--poking out of the top so he could breathe. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Jim said, stooping as his nephew hurled himself the short distance from the couch into Jim’s arms.

“Uncle Jim! Can we go see the dinosaurs?” 

Jim rose with a laugh, carrying Peter right up with him so he was perched on his hip. “I don’t see why not. That’s what you want to do?”

Peter nodded enthusiastically, pale blond bangs flopping over his eyes.

“Maybe some lunch first and then dinosaurs. How does that sound?”

“Um, hot dogs?”

Jim glanced at Sam, who rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Sure thing, buddy. Hot dogs it is.”

“Yes!” Peter pumped one little fist over his head.

“God, he’s more like you every day,” Sam declared. “Thanks again, Jim, really. I know you probably had plans.”

“Not a problem. Get some work done. Tell Aurelan to feel better. I’ll drop him off tomorrow around four. That good?”

“Terrific,” Sam said. He leaned forward and ruffled his son’s hair, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. “Okay, Petey, be good for Uncle Jim, okay? Do what he says?”

“I will, Daddy.”

“That’s my little man. I’ll see you tomorrow. You guys have fun.”

Jim set Peter on his feet, scooped up his bag, and slipped one strap over his shoulder, careful not to disturb the bunny ears hanging down the side. “Okay, we are off on an adventure,” he announced, taking Peter’s hand, and they headed out the door to the sound of Sam’s quiet laughter. 

~*~

After lunch at Gray’s Papaya--home of the cheapest hot dogs in New York City--Jim and Peter hit the Museum of Natural History, where Peter spent a rapt hour carefully examining all of the dinosaurs on display, making his uncle read the placards that explained what they ate, how tall they were, and when they became extinct. From there they wandered from hall to hall, taking in dioramas of Eskimos, glass cases filled with fossils, the enormous canoe that was a fixture in the Grand Gallery, and the model of the blue whale suspended from the ceiling of the Hall of Ocean Life. Peter was particularly taken with a cross-cut of a tree that allowed viewers to count the rings and determine the tree’s age, and talked about it nonstop even as Jim boosted him up for a piggy back ride through the crowded museum and out onto the street.

“Where to next, buddy?” Jim asked, glad he had the forethought to drop Peter’s bag off at his apartment before undertaking this little outing. One small child on his shoulders was quite enough without the addition of a knapsack and a stuffed rabbit. “Should we see if there are any good movies playing?”

“Look, there’s story time,” Peter said, pointing and knocking himself off balance, forcing Jim to clutch at his legs and lean forward to keep them both upright.

“Whoa, Petey, easy does it. I think maybe it’s time for you to come down.” He swung him to the pavement, wriggling his back in relief. Definitely would not be doing piggy back rides much longer. 

He peered at the sign in front of the small store, declaring story time would begin at four o’clock. “Good timing,” he said, glancing at his watch. “We’ve got ten minutes. You want to go in?”

“Yeah! Maybe they have a book about whales.”

Jim grinned and pushed Peter’s hair back out of his eyes. “I think we should go find out.” He pulled open the door, noting the sign above with a small grimace as he did: Shop Around the Corner.

~*~

Saturdays were always busy, with kids and parents alike filling the shop from morning right until closing. Leonard thrived on it, loving the interaction with all those little minds, so excited to discover what the next great book held in store for them. Children were much more open to new things than adults, so willing to give your suggestions a chance. They’d listen to him describe the characters in a book and practically grab it out of his hand, anxious to see for themselves just what would happen next. Didn’t matter if they were little kids discovering Babar or Curious George, or slightly older ones meeting Mary Poppins or the Borrowers, or if they’d graduated to classics like _Treasure Island_ or _A Wrinkle in Time._ It was all magic, all a wondrous discovery that made their eyes shine. Even in New York, in this wealthy and sophisticated part of the city, none of his young readers were jaded. 

The jingle of the front bell alerted him to more customers, no doubt coming for story time. Glancing out from behind the register, Leonard took note of the handsome man and tow-headed little boy as they entered hand-in-hand. The child’s face was the picture of enthusiasm, but then so was the man’s. Leonard couldn’t help but smile a little to himself, seeing that obvious love of books written clearly in the adult’s expression. He finished ringing up the customer he’d been helping, but out of the corner of his eye saw Pavel moving to help the newcomers, directing them toward the back of the shop in response to whatever question had been asked. The nature and science section for early readers, he noted. Even money they had just been to the museum, Leonard mused, moving on to ring up the next person in line. 

At a few minutes before four, Leonard shifted out from behind the counter and headed to the story-time corner. The old, green plaid easy chair was a leftover from the days when Geoff M’Benga and his wife owned the store, but since taking over he had added a few throw pillows and a furry faux-sheepskin rug that was a particular favorite and inevitably had a couple of kids fighting to sit on it. 

As if by magic, kids stopped their browsing and began drifting after him. There was a little bit of giggling and some pushing from one or two of the older children, but mostly everyone was a regular and well behaved, knowing better than to incur Leonard’s wrath; he had, on one or two particularly raucous occasions, been known to cancel story time.

He never liked to choose what books he read too far in advance. Stories had to fit the crowd. Today’s group skewed a bit on the young side, so as he settled into the reading chair, he pulled a few of his favorite picture books off the nearest shelf—always a good bet for listeners with slightly shorter attention spans. He’d start out with _Make Way for Ducklings_ and go from there.

“Everybody find a seat and we’ll get started,” he announced, waving over a few of the stragglers who were hanging back shyly. He watched as the man from earlier stepped carefully between small bodies and dropped down cross-legged on the hard floor to one side of where most of the children sprawled on the area rugs, pulling the blond little boy to cuddle up on his lap. Leonard gave them an approving nod—too many parents stood in the back and left their children to fend for themselves the first time here—and started slightly when the man smiled back, his blue-blue gaze catching and holding Leonard’s for an awkwardly long moment. 

Shaking off his reaction, Leonard turned to the room at large and held up the book. A few excited gasps reached his ears, and he smiled down on his audience. “Everybody ready?” he asked. When the outburst of replies died down, he began to read. 

~*~

As always, there was a brief rush after Leonard finished the last story for the afternoon, with parents packing up kids, paying for books, and heading off into the twilight to make dinner or grab take out or prep for the babysitter--whatever one did on a Saturday night in New York when the kids you saw daily were your own. By the time he finished ringing up a stack of early readers for Mrs. Olsen and her daughter Jessica, Hikaru had put the reading corner to rights, Pavel was restocking the young adult section, and there were only a handful of customers left browsing. 

Circling the store, Leonard tidied up as he went, making mental notes of holes in the inventory. He spotted the blond little boy over at the child-sized table and chairs, seated next to the giant stuffed bear wearing scrubs and stethoscope--a sort of homage to Leonard’s almost-life. When he drew closer, he realized the boy had a book opened up in front of him and was quietly sounding out the words, almost as if he was reading to the toy. 

“You like dinosaurs?” Leonard asked, peeking over the child’s shoulder to see what he was reading.

The small, fair head nodded vigorously, but he didn’t look up, clearly absorbed in his reading efforts. Leonard glanced around and saw that the boy’s companion was at the register, paying Hikaru for a fair-sized stack of books. As Leonard tried to determine the titles, the man turned and called out in a low, quiet voice that somehow carried effortlessly. “Petey? You want that one too? Better decide now, before I pay.”

Leonard watched the child’s brief hesitation, then huffed a quiet laugh as he leaped to his feet, book in hand, and dashed over to the register, plowing into the man’s legs. 

“Thanks, Uncle Jim!” He beamed up at the man, book held high.

“You’re welcome, buddy,” the man—Jim--replied with a chuckle. He took the book and handed it to Hikaru. “And this one, too, please.”

Hikaru rang the book up and tucked it into the cloth sack with the rest of the purchases. He peered over the counter at the little boy. “Would you like to pick out a balloon?” he asked. 

“Yeah!”

“Peter? What do you say?”

“Yes, please!” The boy practically vibrated in his excitement.

Hikaru shot Leonard an amused glance. “Okay, how about you come around here and show me which one you want,” he said, indicating the bouquet of balloons behind the counter in the back room. 

Leonard laughed as the boy’s eyes grew even wider as he took in the selection and he set about the all-important business of choosing the perfect balloon. 

“Thanks. You’ve made his day,” Jim said, passing over his credit card. 

“No problem,” Hikaru replied. “You’re going to be back, right?”

Leonard frowned, knowing where this was going. “Sulu.”

“Um, sure, of course I’ll be back,” Jim replied, though his tone was questioning.

“They’re opening up a Pike Books down the street,” Leonard volunteered. 

“Oh. Right.”

“I keep telling them it has nothing to do with us. We have a staff that actually _reads_ and knows what the new titles are before they hit the shelves. That’s _real_ customer service, not serving up lattes or stocking fifty copies of the latest trashy novel to hit the bestseller lists. I know my customers.”

“And you are?” Jim asked.

“Leonard McCoy,” he replied, holding out his hand to shake. “This is my shop.”

“Jim Kirk,” came the reply, along with a firm, almost brusque handshake. He turned to sign his credit card slip. “Well, that’s that. Thanks again for all your help. Petey, you pick out your balloon yet?”

“Can I have the purple one, please?”

“Sure thing,” Hikaru told him, easing his selection from the bunch and making a quick slip knot in the string so he could secure it over the child’s wrist. “There you go.”

“Thanks!” He wandered toward his uncle, admiring the balloon bobbing over his head.

“You’re very welcome,” Leonard told them both, watching as Jim took Peter’s hand and moved purposefully toward the door. “Have a good day and enjoy your books!”

“Bye,” Jim replied, half-waving over one shoulder as he maneuvered Peter, his purchases, and the balloon outside. 

“Huh,” Hikaru said, when the door had closed behind them. “That was kind of abrupt.”

Leonard stared at the door, nodding in acknowledgement. Glancing around, he realized the store was now empty. He clapped his hands together, breaking what felt like an ominous silence. “Okay, let’s get this place in shape. Just an hour until closing.”

~*~

On November first, Jim rose early, donned his favorite charcoal suit with a crisp white dress shirt and the turquoise tie that Gaila insisted made his eyes pop, threw on his light-weight grey overcoat, and walked the six blocks to the first Pike Books to grace the Upper West Side of Manhattan. He arrived early to tour the store with Spock, noting with a certain anal satisfaction the way the books lined up perfectly on the shelves, how the floors and fixtures gleamed, the spotless finish on the dark wood counters. Then he stood in front of the assembled staff and gave his traditional opening remarks before shaking hands with the management team and wishing them a fabulous first day.

After that, Jim stepped back and let his people take over. He might have put in his time as a bookseller, first at a little mom-and-pop deal in Berkeley when he was in college, and then a couple of years at the Pike Books in San Francisco before he started business school--and he knew he could hand sell with the best of them--but the secret to his rapid rise through the ranks of Pike’s corporate division wasn’t his sales skills--nor nepotism as had often been suggested--but his eye for talent. Jim Kirk knew how to hire the absolute best people for each and every position in the organization, from part-time sales assistant to division manager, and he knew enough to allow them the space they needed to get the job done.

He watched from the second floor balcony as the doors officially opened for the first time, allowing the line of people on the sidewalk to stream inside. He saw a few skeptical expressions, but for the most part everyone appeared delighted to be there, some even in awe of the wide open space, lofted ceilings, and miles of bookshelves. People moved toward the coffee bar, toward the fiction section, into the aisles of magazine racks, spreading out to find specific items or simply to take in the pristine displays.

A hand came into view, offering a Pike Books mug of steaming black coffee. Jim wrapped his hands around the dark green porcelain. “Thanks, Spock.”

“You are welcome.” His friend stood ram-rod straight next to him, surveying the floor below. “We seem to have spawned a sufficient level of curiosity in the neighborhood.”

Jim chuckled. “Yeah, Spock. We lured them in, all right.” He took a sip of his coffee. “What have you got for me?”

“There is a small issue with the signing scheduled for the Sunday prior to Thanksgiving. A conflict. I will handle it, but I wished you to be aware. Also, several representatives from local news stations have requested to interview you on camera for their evening reports. I took the liberty of setting up a schedule for you through Janice.”

Jim nodded. “Fine. I’m headed in to the office from here. Anything else?”

“I have procured invitations for you and a guest to Nyota Uhura’s pre-holiday publishing party.”

“Seriously? She’s going to let me through the door? How did you pull that one off?” Nyota Uhura was one of the most savvy fiction editors in the city, and not exactly Jim’s biggest fan. He had mistakenly hit on her while under the influence shortly after he moved to New York. His only excuse, other than the excessive amounts of tequila, was that he was feeling lonely and out of place and in need of some human connection, but she had never quite forgiven him for his cocky, over-confident approach. 

“I merely suggested it would be imprudent to continue to hold personal grudges, given your permanent placement in the New York headquarters and the increased presence of Pike Books within the city.”

“You threatened her.”

“I did not. I appealed to her sense of logic. The event has been added to your calendar.”

~*~

Leonard was used to the occasional quiet day at the shop. Retail was like that; some days were insanely busy while others were slower. People went out of town or took in special events in the city and saved their book shopping for another afternoon. 

Today, however, had not been the average kind of quiet. It was opening day for Pike Books, which meant the shoppers who failed to darken his door were most likely down the street checking out the competition. And while Leonard had faith in his customers, in their devotion to his cozy little shop, it still stung a bit to think they might be supporting that sterile monstrosity, with its cookie-cutter sales people and the stock dog-eared and stained from browsers reading in the coffee shop.

He got home a little earlier than usual, the store having been fairly neat at day’s end as a result of the reduced traffic, and let himself into his empty apartment with a sigh. He flipped on the news, more to break the silence than from any desire to actually watch it, and poured himself a glass of bourbon, intent on unwinding for half an hour before determining what to do about dinner. There were some leftovers, or maybe a sandwich--something that required minimal effort. 

Sinking onto the battered blue couch, he took a long sip of his drink, feeling the burn and the warmth travel down his throat and spread out from there, easing just a bit of the tension of the day. Turning his attention to the tiny TV--apartment sized, Joss had called it, when they’d first moved to New York; Far smaller, no doubt, than whatever she and Clay watched in their McMansion in Savannah--he groped for the remote where it was stuffed down between the sofa cushions and upped the volume just as the newscaster came back from a commercial break and handed over to a reporter on location in front of an all-too-familiar store. He felt a growl start deep in his gut.

The camera shifted to a close-up of a perky brunette news person in a dark red coat. “We’re here at the brand new Pike Books on the Upper West Side. They opened their doors at nine this morning and are already doing a brisk business. Lots of people carrying shopping bags,” she announced with a grin.

“Oh for crying out loud,” Leonard muttered, rolling his eyes.

The shot widened, revealing the man standing next to the reporter. He was turned slightly in profile, but Leonard found himself leaning forward on the couch to get a better look as if he could improve the angle that way.

“I’m speaking with James T. Kirk, heir apparent to the Pike Books empire, who has been overseeing the progress of the new store from conception through today’s grand opening. You must be very excited,” she said, directing her comment toward the man and holding out her microphone.

Kirk shifted head-on toward the camera and Leonard gasped, completely missing the man’s response as he recognized that sunny smile and electric blue gaze.

“Goddamned son of a bitch.” He drained his glass and barely restrained himself from throwing it against the wall. Instead, he rose and poured himself another drink, this time a double.

~*~

Continued in Part Three


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leonard's sales begin to falter, and animosity between our heroes grows.

~*~

Leonard watched as Christine double-checked the figures on the computer against those on the old fashioned adding machine she insisted on keeping. The ancient device groaned and churned out a few more inches of numbers-filled tape.

“One week, Len, just one week, and we’re down $1,200 from the same week last year.”

“Could just be a coincidence.”

She turned with a glare. “You know that’s unlikely.”

Leonard sighed heavily. “Yeah. But the store just opened, Chris. It’s a novelty, so it’s drawing everyone’s attention. As soon as they’ve all got a good look, things will shift back to normal.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“What if we haf to close?” Pavel asked. He’d been dusting the front display table quietly, obviously listening in on the discussion. “I vill never find part-time job as good as this one and I vill need to move farther from university.”

“No one’s moving and we’re not closing,” Leonard grumbled. “It’s just one week.”

“If you say so,” Christine said.

“I just did, didn’t I? Pavel, put down that damn feather duster and go get the twinkle lights out of the back. It’s time to do the front window display.”

~*~

Nyota Uhura’s apartment on Central Park West was not the typical home of a New York book editor. While the job conveyed a certain amount of cache and glamour, and certainly paid a living wage once one reached the upper reaches of success as Nyota had early in her meteoric career, it was not the type of work that made one rich. Where exactly Nyota found the money to acquire and support her lavish lifestyle was something of a mystery, one that contributed to the cool veneer of sophistication that cloaked her wherever she went. 

Jim moved easily through the crush of people filling the stylishly decorated living room, in search of the bar that had been set up in front of one long bookshelf-lined wall. The guests were primarily the movers and shakers of the publishing world; editors and publicists, book reviewers and book buyers, writers and agents. He had lost Gaila shortly after their arrival when, having spotted an author she represented, she shooed him off with strict orders to fetch her a vodka and tonic and made a beeline through the crowd, her vibrant red hair like a beacon in the dimly lit room. 

After waiting patiently in line for a few moments, Jim finally advanced to the broad stretch of counter, behind which three tuxedo-clad bartenders mixed, poured, stirred, and garnished with varying amounts of flair. 

“Absolute and tonic with lime,” he requested, “and a Makers Mark neat.” 

Behind him a low voice rumbled. “I’ll take a Makers, too, while you’ve got the bottle to hand.” 

Something about the slow Southern drawl sent a cold shiver of dread down Jim’s spine. He angled slightly, allowing his fellow bourbon drinker to advance to the bar, and sure enough, it was the owner of the children’s bookstore down the block from Pike’s. He noted the instant the man recognized him. It was actually kind of fascinating, the speed with which his brow furrowed and his hazel eyes caught fire. 

“You,” he growled, poking one longer finger into Jim’s chest.

Jim’s gaze dropped to where the finger tip pressed against his sternum, then glanced back up. “Excuse me?”

The man’s flushed and pulled his hand back, but looked no less ready to take Jim’s head off. “I saw your little interview on the news the other night. Don’t think I don’t know who you are now. You have a hell of a lot of nerve, coming into my store, pretending to be a customer.”

“Pretended? I think you should check your records. I did actually buy books. Last I checked, that makes me a real customer.”

“You know what I mean. A customer just like any other, not some damn corporate spy. Was that kid even your nephew, or did you just pick him up from central casting?” 

“Your drinks, sir?”

Jim turned to acknowledge the bartender, slipping a couple of dollars into the tip glass before taking the proffered beverages. “Look, Mr. McCoy,” he said, turning back. “I had Peter for the weekend because my brother had work and my sister-in-law was sick. He saw your sign and wanted to go to story time, so I took him, because I happen to love my nephew, and I love that he’s excited about reading. I certainly have no reason to spy on you.”

“Of course you do, we’re your competition,” McCoy snapped back. “Thank you,” he said in a slightly less contentious tone, reaching to take his own bourbon from the bartender. He downed a hefty swallow even as he tipped the man. 

Jim stared, feeling a strong sense of disbelief at the man’s obvious delusions. He watched as McCoy made short work of his drink, wondering how many had preceded it. “Competition?” he echoed. “Seriously, man? You do, what? Three hundred, maybe three-fifty a year? It’s a great little store, but you can’t honestly believe you’re in competition with Pike Books. We’ll do more than twice than in our kids’ department alone.”

McCoy sputtered, coughing on his drink. “How the hell do you know my numbers?”

“I’m in the book business, McCoy.”

The man’s anger morphed, a stubborn expression dropping into place. “No. What _you_ do isn’t the book business. That’s what _I_ do. You just peddle coffee and shit to the masses.” He turned abruptly and pushed his way into the crowd, disappearing in a manner of moments. 

Jim glanced down at his drink and took a long swallow, grimacing at the burn. One more gulp emptied the glass. He turned to the bartender and held it up. “Refill, please?”

“You seem to be making friends wherever you go.”

Jim groaned and turned to face Nyota. “Ms. Uhura,” he acknowledged with a nod. “Lovely party. Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“Yes, well, Spock pointed out I was being childish by continuing to hold a single drunken encounter against you.” She ran a manicured hand down her red silk dress, smoothing the fabric over her thigh, and nodded over Jim’s shoulder. “Though by the looks of things, I’m not the only one who’s put you on my shit list.” 

“Apparently McCoy has convinced himself I’m a dangerous corporate spy, out to steal his best book-selling secrets.” He nodded toward the bar. “Drink?”

“You realize this is my party, right?” She cocked her head, sending long red crystal earrings swinging gently above her shoulders.

Jim forced a grin. “Just being polite.” He claimed his own refilled bourbon glass. “I should find Gaila. She sent me for this a while ago,” he added, raising the other drink. 

“Of course.” Nyota side-stepped to allow him to pass. “But Kirk? McCoy’s a good man, and that store is important to him.”

“I’m sure it is. But none of this is personal, Uhura, you know that. It’s business.”

She pressed her lips together and gave a little nod. “Enjoy the party.”

~*~

Unable to sleep, Jim crawled out of bed around two in the morning and wandered over to his desk. He fired up his computer and stared at the ghostly glow of the screen for a long time before finally opening a new e-mail window. 

_From: Cap1701  
To: Books_n_Bones  
Subject: Brief rant_

_Hey, Bones--_

_So, I’m normally a cheerful, upbeat kind of guy. I’ve got my moments, I’m only human, but overall, I try to have a good attitude. But tonight was the sort of night where I wished I could have stayed home with a good book. Went to a work function, despite knowing the hostess isn’t my biggest fan. My date was off glad-handing the entire evening; we’re casual and that’s usually fine, but I suppose I was in the mood for a little more support. Then I ran into someone who decided to blame me for all of their work problems. I found myself getting a little short-tempered, but even so, I kept my cool, though they got pretty nasty about it all. I should have stayed longer--my best friend was supposed to attend and hadn’t arrived yet when I decided to duck out--but it somehow felt like too much. Maybe that’s some kind of cop out, but so be it. Hope your night was better._

_From: Books_n_Bones  
To: Cap1701  
Subject: RE: Brief rant_

_Rant away. I know exactly what you mean. I had some of my own unpleasantness tonight. Ran into a nemesis of sorts and it put a huge crimp in my evening. I’d been looking forward to a night out, something I’ll admit I don’t do all that often. Friend of mine had fancy shin-dig and talked me into going, even though I’m generally more the small dinner party type. There were a few folks I knew and some others I’d been looking forward to meeting, but I didn’t know this bozo was attending. Might have stayed home if I did. He brings out the absolute worst in me, but he deserves every bit of it, so I refuse to feel bad. Or at least I try. Not really my nature to lash out, but this guy lied to my face and has the nerve to act like it’s no big deal. I think I’m justified. I say go read your book--something familiar that you love--and let it smooth all the rough edges. At least, that’s what I intend to do. And call your best friend, make plans to do something. You’ll feel better for it._

_From: Cap1701  
To: Books_n_Bones  
Subject: RE: RE: Brief rant_

_Hi, Bones--_

_Sorry you had to go through that, especially when it sounds like you were looking forward to a fun night out. Maybe you should set down your book and go out with your own friends, plan something entertaining to make up for it._

_What do you think about us getting together? I mean, do you think maybe we should meet?_

Leonard stared at the e-mail, the words on the screen making his head throb and his stomach churn uneasily. _Meet_?

~*~

Suddenly Jim Kirk was everywhere. Leonard had only to walk down the street to see his blond head bobbing around the corner into the local Starbucks, or darting out of the dry cleaner three blocks from his apartment building. It was the last thing he needed, a constant reminder of the stress he felt over the slow traffic at the store and the state of his sales numbers. Leonard had taken to turning tail and running in the opposite direction whenever Kirk loomed into view. It was pure self defense; he was afraid he’d develop an ulcer on top of everything else, the way his blood started to boil and his stomach churn whenever he spotted the man.

Meanwhile, he had the additional problem of whether he wanted to meet Cap1701 in person. He’d begged off for now, claiming he needed more time, and his online friend had been more than understanding, assuring him that he had only to say the word when he was ready, and that it was not his intention to pressure him. But the question of meeting had set Leonard’s own thoughts spinning, wondering just what the other man expected from him. They had continued to keep their chats and e-mails casual, avoiding any topics that were too personal. In fact they still hadn’t traded names. Cap1701 remained just that, and he in turn had dubbed Leonard “Bones,” and refused to be shaken from using the ridiculous nickname, though Leonard had to admit, if only to himself, that it was kind of growing on him. 

But he couldn’t fool himself regarding the state of their relationship. Even knowing so little about the other man, Leonard found he was drawn to him. Christine’s comment about straight men not chatting online burned at the back of his mind. On some level, he knew she was right. And he also realized that, though Cap1701 had mentioned dating from time to time, he’d always made it perfectly clear that those dates were nothing serious. 

None of that made the decision to meet in person any easier, however. Sending e-mails was safe. Faceless, nameless, without any risk of disappointment or heartbreak. If there was one thing Leonard had experienced enough of in his life, it was getting his heart trampled upon. His ex-wife had put him through hell, and though they had declared a truce of sorts for the sake of their daughter, the reality was that Leonard caved to Jocelyn’s wishes far more than the other way around. He wasn’t sure he was ready to give someone else that type of control over his peace of mind.

The week before Thanksgiving, feeling rough around the edges and endlessly distracted, Leonard ran into Zabar’s after closing the shop, intent on picking up the non-perishable items he needed for his annual holiday widows-and-orphans dinner. Pavel and Hikaru had both said they were coming, and Christine was bringing her new boyfriend Roger, and there was an excellent chance that Scotty, the bartender down at Finnigan’s on Columbus, would drop by before the night was through. He’d managed to order the turkey, and it was still too early to get fresh vegetables, but he could pick up cheese and some crackers, pecans for the pie, a couple of pounds of the good French roast coffee he favored, and maybe some smoked salmon while he was at it. 

It was crowded, but he’d expected as much. He grabbed a basket and wove through the aisles, one eye on the counters and the other on where he was going. When he saw an all-too-familiar flash of short blond hair through the hanging salamis, it was all he could do not to swear a blue streak. Instead he swiveled and headed down the bread aisle, keeping his face averted as best he could.

Basket filled with all of his purchases, Leonard darted quickly toward the cash registers. They had several people ringing up customers and the lines were moving swiftly, but he was still painfully aware of the fact that Jim Kirk was lurking somewhere in the store beyond. It was a great relief to reach the front of the line and swiftly unload his items onto the counter.

“That’s seventy-two-oh-eight,” the cashier told him.

Peeking back through the line, searching for a certain golden head, Leonard distractedly handed over his credit card. When the woman failed to take it, he turned to find her glaring.

“This is a cash-only line,” she said pointedly.

Leonard glanced back and groaned, seeing the sign at the entrance to the line. “Oh hell, I am so sorry,” he murmured. “I wasn’t paying attention,” he admitted, feeling a flush of embarrassment. He shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out his billfold, grimacing. He knew he didn’t have enough cash to cover his purchases. “I have... seventeen dollars,” he counted out. Holding the money in one hand and his card in the other, he looked hopefully at the stern-faced cashier. “Couldn’t you please just charge it? Just the once?”

“You’ll have to get in another line,” she replied, expression indicating she was in no way willing to alter her verdict. 

The customers behind Leonard were grumbling restlessly, obviously annoyed at his careless error. The other lines were even longer now than they had been when he first headed to check out. He let out a pained sigh. “Really? Please, just ring this up. I swear, I never ask for this type of thing.”

“Everything okay over here?”

Leonard let his eyes fall shut at the sound of Jim Kirk’s voice coming from ahead of him. Clearly he had already made is purchases and was heading toward the exit. “Everything’s fine.”

“Get in another line already,” complained the woman who was waiting to pay next.

“Do you need money?” Kirk asked.

Leonard snapped his head around and glared at baby-faced bane of his existence. “I am perfectly capable of paying for my groceries. You haven’t bankrupted me yet,” he ground out.

Assessing blue eyes darted from Leonard to the cashier and back under golden arched brows. “I see.” He leaned forward and addressed the woman behind the till. “Can I help here?”

“It’s a cash-only line,” she informed him icily. “And he only has a credit card.”

“I see,” Kirk said again, nodding. He reached out and tapped the credit card machine. “But doesn’t this little device let you swipe his credit card?” he asked with a knowing smile. “Couldn’t you do that now? It’ll be so much faster, and then all these fine people can pay for their groceries as well. Surely you have the power to do that, right?”

Leonard watched with a mix of amazement and disgust as Kirk charmed the cashier into swiping his credit card in a matter of seconds. Before he knew it, he was standing on the corner in front of the store, grocery bags in his arms.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Kirk asked. He had a strange look on his face. Amused yet somehow understanding. But Leonard was not about to allow the bastard to charm him the way he’d done the overworked cashier.

“No,” he bit out. “Thank you.” He turned and headed off in the opposite direction, just barely managing not to stomp. It was hardly polite of him, he knew, but gracious behavior was lost on the likes of James T. Kirk. 

~*~

Jim Kirk knew how to cook. He actually cooked quite well, as did his brother Sam. It was a skill they acquired fairly early in their childhood, mostly from necessity, as their mother traveled often when they were young, and when home, tended to get caught up in whatever project had captured her fancy, frequently forgetting to bother with dinner. Jim was never sure if it was because of those circumstances or in spite of them that Aurelan never let the brothers near the kitchen on major holidays. 

In the three years since Jim had moved to New York, they had developed something of a tradition. Aurelan called the week before and provided Jim with a list of food items that he was required to have on hand for the holiday. Early Thanksgiving morning, Sam, Aurelan, and Peter would arrive, along with Aurelan’s favorite roasting pan and at least two homemade pies--pumpkin and one that varied by year. Aurelan would then shoo them out of the apartment to go to the Macy’s parade, while she went to work on the turkey that Jim had purchased.

By the time the parade ended, and Peter had been suitably warmed with a cup of hot chocolate, the Kirk men would return to find the apartment filled with delectable aromas. At that point, Jim and Sam would be allowed to help with a few simple tasks, like putting appetizers onto platters and setting the table, but that was generally the extent of their physical contribution to the day’s efforts.

This year, their group was filled out with a rag-tag assortment of friends. Chris Pike arrived first, a couple of bottles of pinot noir cradled in one arm. Gaila came soon after, and then Scotty, who tended bar at Jim’s favorite watering hole and who seemed to have no family in town. Aurelan had emerged from the kitchen to socialize, and Sam was passing cocktails, when Spock finally arrived. Jim had been anxiously awaiting his appearance, as Spock had asked if he might bring a guest--an unprecedented request in the history of their friendship--so it was with some anticipation that he opened the door to find Spock accompanying Nyota Uhura.

Jim’s brows shot up, but he managed to refrain from commenting. Instead he stepped back, opening the door to allow his final two guests to enter. “Happy Thanksgiving,” he said.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Jim,” Nyota replied, smiling a bit smugly when he shot her a look of surprise. “Thank you for having me.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he recovered swiftly, taking the bakery box she offered. “I believe you know everyone here except my brother and his family. Spock, would you do the honors while I put this in the kitchen?”

Spock nodded, his face placid in the wake of Jim’s struggle to hide his shock. Jim went to put the box in the refrigerator, meeting Chris’s grin with a glare en route. Clearly his boss already knew about this social development.

When Jim returned, Nyota was ensconced on the cognac leather couch, deep in conversation with his sister-in-law. Spotting Spock fixing them drinks, Jim made a beeline for his best friend.

“You and Nyota? Is that how you snagged us those party invites?”

“I already explained that I appealed to her sense of logic.”

Jim angled around so he could pin Spock with a steady look. “Spock? How long has this been going on?”

With what might almost have been an expression of discomfort, Spock shifted his own gaze away. “Approximately two point four months.” 

“Two point four--so, since September? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was under the impression you were not particularly... fond, of Nyota.”

Jim sighed. “Come on, man. You know all that bickering was just because I hit on her when I was three sheets to the wind. It wasn’t personal. I’m happy for you.”

There was a slight softening at the sides of Spock’s mouth, as close as he ever got to smiling. “I am gratified, Jim. It vexed me to think that two such important people in my life would continue to be at loggerheads.”

“Important, huh? So it’s serious?”

“I believe it could be.”

“That’s terrific,” Jim said, infusing his voice with all the sincerity he could muster. He was genuinely happy for his friend, but it was difficult to wrap his mind around the change in circumstances. As long as they had known each other, Spock had rarely dated, and never had a long-term relationship to the best of Jim’s knowledge. 

Dinner was warm and companionable. Everyone complemented Aurelan on the food, and even Peter managed to shovel down a second helping of everything except the green beans, though he ate his first serving willingly enough. Chris regaled the group with stories of Jim and Sam when they were little, and Gaila shared the disastrous tale of her one and only attempt to roast a turkey. There was a certain amount of shop talk, inevitable when the majority of those present worked in the book industry, with Sam and Aurelan not far off as university professors, but they kept it light--more who had read what recently than sales and profit margins. 

There was a lull following the meal, prior to dessert, when everyone already felt full to bursting, and Scotty brought out a bottle of Balvenie 15 year single barrel that had both Jim and Chris sighing appreciatively. 

“To fine friends, for which I am truly thankful,” Scotty toasted.

Everyone lifted their glass, including Peter, who had been given apple juice in one of his uncle’s cut crystal old fashioned glasses for the occasion and was dutifully clutching it with both hands. Jim’s toasted with his friends and family, but even as he sipped the high class Scotch, he found himself wondering about his bourbon-loving friend Bones, and hoping that he was spending his holiday in equally good company.

~*~

“Leonard, one of these days I’m going to wheedle that pecan pie recipe out of you,” Christine said, pushing her chair back from the table and cradling her coffee mug between her hands. “It really is the most divine thing.”

“Sorry. It’s my great-grandmother’s recipe and she will climb out of her grave and come after me if I pass the secret along to anyone other than Joanna.”

“You Southerners and your secrets,” she murmured in reply.

“T’was a mighty fine spread you laid out,” Scotty said. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“You’re most welcome, Mr. Scott,” Leonard said. “No one should spend the holidays alone, even if it’s not their own holiday. And thank you for your contribution. If I weren’t such a dedicated bourbon man myself, that Scotch might have the power to convert me.”

Scotty grinned and patted his belly. “Need a taste of home to top off a meal like that, and to remind me I’m not quite a Yank, despite being more than happy to help celebrate a day associated with such delectable fixings.” 

“Too bad you missed the starters,” Roger commented. “But your loss meant more for us,” he added with a smile, bumping shoulders with Christine, who had demonstrated a fondness for smoked salmon on toast points.

“Aye, well, my apologies but I had to make a stop on the way,” Scotty said.

“Why don’t you all take your coffee over there and get comfortable,” Leonard said, waving them toward the couch just a few paces from the dining table. “I’m just going to clear this up a bit so I can shut the leaves, give us some more elbow room.”

“You cooked,” Hikaru piped up. “Let us handle the dishes. Pavel, give me a hand?”

“Of course.” 

Leonard started to protest but a single glare from Sulu had him backing off. “If you insist. Thanks.”

His two employees declared the kitchen area too cramped for more assistants, and so Christine, Roger, and Scotty joined Leonard, mugs and glasses of Scotch vying for space on the old trunk that served as a coffee table. 

“So, Leonard, I was kind of hoping to meet your mysterious friend today,” Christine said with a sly smile. “How’s that going?”

Scotty cocked his head. “Ye have a special someone, McCoy? Why have ye not brought them into Finnegan’s?”

Leonard sighed and sank back into his chair, shooting a disgruntled look in Chris’s direction. He should have known she would only be able to keep her mouth shut for so long. “I’d hardly call him a special someone. We’re corresponding online,” he said, angling his face so he was staring into his coffee mug. 

“Talk louder!” demanded Hikaru. “Can’t hear if you mumble.”

“Oh, for goodness--I met someone in a chat room, okay? We e-mail back and forth. That’s it. I don’t even know his name.”

“Still?” Christine asked. “What are you waiting for?”

“Well, he did suggest we meet a couple of weeks back, but I’ve been putting him off.”

“Why?” Roger asked. “I’m sorry, perhaps it’s not my place--we don’t really know each other--but if you like the guy enough to e-mail, presumably for a while now, what’s the harm in meeting up for coffee or a drink or something? What’s the worst that can happen?”

Leonard gulped at his coffee, stalling, and cursing Christine in his head. 

“The man has a point,” Scotty joined in. “There’s no harm in meeting this lad.”

“It’s just there’s so much going on right now, with the store and the holidays--”

“That’s just an excuse, Leonard, and you know it,” Chris admonished. Setting down her mug, she leaned forward and placed one warm hand over his. “Take the chance,” she said softly. “It’s time.”

Letting out a sigh, looking up at the concerned, earnest faces of his friends, Leonard just nodded.

~*~

Continued in Part Four


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle between the bookstores continues, and Jim has an unwelcome revelation.

~*~

The Monday after Thanksgiving, a sign appeared in the window of Neighborhood Sleuth mystery bookstore announcing they would close at the end of the month. Business was suddenly brisk, with shoppers making the trip from mid-town and even lower Manhattan, just to take advantage of the excellent sales.

Jim contacted Abraham Isaacson, the shop’s long-time owner, and arranged to purchase any remaining stock at a reasonable price. Although he discussed the details over the phone, he made a point of dropping by to meet with the man and to shake his hand. 

“So what are your plans?” he asked. It was just past eight o’clock on the night before the store’s final day. 

Isaacson adjusted his thick-framed glasses and gazed lovingly at the partially empty fixtures that surrounded him. “I am an old man, Mr. Kirk. I have worked in this store, first as a sales clerk and later as owner, for nearly fifty years. My wife and I met here--she was a customer.” He smiled, a faraway look in his eyes. “It is long past the time when I should have retired, but I love books.”

Jim smiled. “I can understand that. I love books, too.”

Isaacson turned to him, his gaze piercing. Jim stood still, allowing the man to assess him. “I believe you do,” he agreed finally. “I do not blame you for this,” he added, waving a hand at what had once been a crowded, thriving business. “This is the way the times go. Progress,” he said with a shrug. “And as I said, I am old. I will move to Florida where most of my friends have been for ten years. I will take my wife for walks on the beach and in the evenings we will read to each other. Perhaps there will be a good library nearby.”

“Sounds like you have it all worked out.”

“Ah, perhaps. Perhaps not so much. As long as my Elizabeth is with me, they will be good days.” He took Jim’s hand between both of his, the skin dry and translucent, soft against Jim’s own. “God bless you, Mr. Kirk. And may books bring you the love of your life, as they brought me mine.” He released Jim’s hand with a wink.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, no, thank you. I just have some paperwork to finish up. Go ahead and enjoy your evening.” He accompanied Jim to the door, moving somewhat stiffly, and turned the key to let him out. 

The small side street was quiet, most shops having closed for the night. A streetlight threw the sidewalk into stripes of shadow, and as Jim turned to make his way toward Columbus a broad-shouldered figure detached itself from a darkened archway one building over and stepped in front of him.

Jim felt a frisson of fear before the streetlight illuminated the man’s face, and then all he felt was annoyance. “You following me, McCoy?”

“Hardly. I was walking by and saw you in with Mr. Isaacson. Isn’t it enough you’ve driven him out of business, you have to keep the man working late?”

Jim kept walking, unsurprised when McCoy swiveled and matched his stride. “Not that it has anything to do with you, but I was finishing a deal with Mr. Isaacson. And the man’s retiring, not going out of business,” he added.

“Semantics. He’s claiming it’s retirement, but we all know the truth.”

“Oh, the truth, right,” Jim said, stopping to glare at the other man, resenting the scowl he turned in his direction. “And I suppose in your version of the truth I’m just some vulture picking on the carcass of a business I helped to kill.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Incredible. If you spent half the energy promoting your shop that you do attacking me, you wouldn’t need to worry about the big bad super store.” With that, he stepped out into the street and raised his hand to hail a cab. Conversation over.

~*~

Leonard had sent Christine and Hikaru home shortly after closing the store for the night, but even after he finished straightening the shelves and putting out a bit of new stock, he still couldn’t quite bring himself to leave. So he dragged the artificial Christmas tree out of storage and set it up in its traditional spot in the front window. He plugged in the lights and began checking the bulbs, replacing the few that had gone dark over the long year. Then he dug into the box of ornaments, all carefully wrapped in tissue for safekeeping. Some were store bought, but many were homemade, gifts from young patrons, but also from his own daughter. There were several Jo had made with his assistance when she was just a toddler, before Jocelyn had upended their lives and swooped the little girl back home to live in Georgia. 

When the phone rang, he almost didn’t bother to answer. The machine would pick up, and it was well past closing time. But the reality was that he needed every sale, so he hauled himself up from where he had been sitting cross-legged on the floor, groaning a bit as his knees creaked in reaction.

“Len? Why are you still at work?”

He sighed at his ex-wife’s voice, still so demanding despite years apart. “I’m putting up the Christmas decorations. That all right with you?”

“Yes, of course it is,” she said, sounding regretful. “I’m sorry. It’s just I’ve been trying to catch you for days and you’re never home.”

“Been putting in a lot of hours. Holiday season and all.” He didn’t want to admit to the truth--that he’d taken to wandering the streets for an hour or so each night, restless and worried, trying to come up with some way to bring in customers.

“Well, that’s actually what I want to talk to you about. You know, this is our first Christmas as a family.”

He swallowed hard, the bitter taste of bile coating his throat. His wife’s new husband was not his first choice of subjects. “What about it?”

“I’d really like to do a big Christmas here, with my sister and her kids and Clay’s family. Joanna’s never really had a holiday like that.”

Leonard pressed the phone to his ear and waited. He already knew what she wanted--if the lead in hadn’t made it obvious, the gaping pit forming in his stomach would have--but he’d be damned if he was going to make it easy on her. If Jocelyn wanted something, she was going to have to ask for it.

“Please, Leonard. I know Joanna’s supposed to come there for Christmas, but it would mean so much to all of us to have her here. It would be so much fun for her. We’ll look at the calendar and work out another time for your visit, I promise.”

She made it sound so reasonable. Never mind that he hadn’t seen his daughter in six months. That he barely spoke to her anymore, they kept her days so scheduled and busy. But he also knew she was right--Jo-Jo would love a big family Christmas with all her cousins. It’s how he and Jocelyn had both grown up, with big extended families piling into their houses every year.

“Fine, Joce,” he said, exhaling harshly. “If it’s that important. Tell Jo I love her, and I’ll call her on the weekend, okay?”

“Thank you, Len. I know it’s a lot to ask. I do appreciate it, really.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Look, I’ve got to go. Talk to you Sunday.”

Leonard hung up the phone and looked at the half-decorated tree in the window. Then he went and shoved the remaining ornaments back into their box and tucked it to one side where no one would trip on it in the morning. But he didn’t leave. Instead he lowered himself back to the floor, propped himself against the counter, and sat there staring into the dark for a long time.

~*~

_From: Books_n_Bones  
To: Cap1701  
Subject: Christmas blues_

_I used to love the holidays. The music, the decorations, the look of anticipation on the faces of little kids. But my dad died a few years ago right before Christmas, and I always miss him more this time of year. And of course my little girl, who lives down South with her mama. My ex remarried recently, so they’re doing the big family thing this year, and I suppose on top of all my problems it’s just hitting me hard, not getting to see my daughter. The trouble with being a grown up is you run out of people to turn to for advice when everything’s turning to shit._

_From: Cap1701  
To: Books_n_Bones  
Subject: RE: Christmas blues_

_What sort of advice do you need, Bones? Is it something I can help with? I’d really like to, if I can._

Leonard stared at the e-mail. Could he help? It would be such a relief to have someone to talk to about this. He felt such a need to shelter his employees. Only Chris had any idea how bad it had gotten, and that was purely because she did the books. He considered again the offer to meet, and his friends’ insistence that he should go for it. But then he brushed it off; one thing at a time.

He hit reply and started to type. 

_From: Books_n_Bones  
To: Cap1701  
Subject: RE: RE: Christmas blues_

_Can you help? I wish--_

An instant messenger window popped up, blocking Leonard’s e-mail. 

**Instant message from: Cap1701**

**Cap1701:** Ah ha! You’re online. This is much easier.

 **Cap1701:** What kind of advice do you need? Really, I’m awesome at advice.

Leonard couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiastic offer. 

**Books_n_Bones:** Honestly, a little help would be terrific.

 **Cap1701:** So what’s the problem? Romance?

Jim hit send with a frown. “Say no, say no.”

Leonard read the question and his smile widened. “Ha. Someone’s fishin’.”

 **Books_n_Bones:** No, nothing like that. It’s business trouble.

Jim grinned. “Phew. That I can deal with.”

 **Cap1701:** Lay it on me. I’m a business whiz. M.B.A. and everything. What kind of business?

Leonard shook his head and quickly typed out his response.

 **Books_n_Bones:** Nope, we said no details, remember? 

“Shit. Okay, I suppose that’s fair,” Jim muttered. 

**Cap1701:** Without specifics it’s a little hard to give advice. But based on some of our conversations, I’d say you need to get tough. Don’t worry so much about the other guy’s point of view. Whatever you’re dealing with, competition, lazy employees, vendor issues, you have to keep your business hat on and go for it. Business isn’t personal, it’s a war. You against them.

Leonard let out a low whistle. “Hell, it’s like he knows me inside and out.” Though he supposed after all their e-mails, his personality wasn’t exactly a mystery, even if his name and job were. 

**Cap1701:** You still there, Bones? Seriously, man, I know what I’m talking about. 

**Books_n_Bones:** I’m here. And I think you’re right. I do need to get tough. Thanks.

~*~

Leonard has always known that he allowed his family to slip away from him, but at the time he’d rationalized it by saying he was still in shock from his father’s death. 

They’d been living in New York, he and Jocelyn and two-year-old Joanna, when his father first fell ill. Leonard had gone home to Georgia for a weekend and stayed three months, taking emergency leave from medical school and putting his future on hold. By the time he came back, he could no longer imagine being a doctor. 

Jocelyn had been horrified when Leonard told her he planned to quit med school entirely. She ranted about how she’d done everything he’d asked of her, moving north and leaving their families, giving birth in a strange city, working crazy hours and caring for a baby virtually alone while he went to classes and studied. 

Looking back, he was amazed they lasted as long as they had, and he knew he could take none of the credit. He hadn’t been paying attention, had been too preoccupied with his grief and with trying to find a new career path, to work at saving his crumbling marriage. By the time Jocelyn had taken Jo-Jo and moved back to Atlanta, it felt like he’d lost everything: his father, his family, his purpose. 

The bookshop had saved him, given him a reason to get up in the morning, even when he was just a sales clerk working for the M’Bengas. And he’d be damned if he was going to just close his eyes and let it slip through his fingers without a fight. Cap1701 was absolutely right; it was time to get tough.

Leonard began in the store itself, talking to customers, exercising his long-rusty networking skills to find out who had connections he could use. A chat here, a phone call there, and suddenly a columnist for _The New York Observer_ was dropping by to interview him. That article led to more high-profile media attention, including a spot on the local news, where they not only talked to Leonard but filmed his loyal customers picketing in front of Pike Books, waving signs and chanting slogans. He got out there and made speeches and smiled until his cheeks hurt. He shook hands and appealed to the neighborhood’s love of tradition, reminding them of what made the Upper West Side so special. 

~*~

When the picketers showed up, Jim was annoyed. He stood with Spock on the store’s second-floor balcony, coffee in hand as was their routine, and listened to the chanting grow louder every time the door swung open, the words filtering inside in bursts.

“’One, two, three, four, we don’t want this super store?’ Is that what they’re saying?”

“It would appear so. An unfortunately simplistic phrase.”

“They aren’t going for poetry, Spock. Just something memorable and easy to repeat.”

Spock winced slightly as someone held the door open for the entire group behind them, and the protest rose in both clarity and volume. “Then it appears they have succeeded.”

 

When the article appeared in _The Observer,_ Jim called Chris, who was working from the San Francisco office for the majority of the week.

“Does anyone really read _The Observer_?”

“You’d be surprise,” Jim sighed, smoothing the newspaper over his desk. 

“It’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before, you know. It’ll die down.”

“I know. I just wanted to keep you in the loop.”

“You planning anything in rebuttal?” Chris asked.

“No point unless it goes viral. People are still crossing the picket lines and coming in to shop. Sales don’t seem to be affected. It’s mostly a nuisance.”

“I’ll be back on Friday. Let me know if you need me sooner.”

“Nah, I’ve got this,” Jim replied.

 

When the local CBS affiliate called to offer Jim a chance to comment on the situation for the evening news, he knew better than to turn them down. When the reporter appeared with her film crew, he smiled warmly and escorted her around the store himself, providing facts and figures, statistics and personal anecdotes, plus a latte for the road. 

It didn’t matter that business was strong, that traffic was above what they had expected even given the approaching holiday, that Leonard McCoy was no more than a flea riding on the back on a powerful stallion. Jim resented every snide comment and mean-spirited accusation thrown at the company, felt each one as a barb in Chris’s side from which he’d failed to protect him. Chris Pike was the closest thing Jim had to a father, and he’d be damned if he let anyone make him look bad. They could poke at Jim all they wanted--it was Chris’s name on the front of that store, and Jim was going to see he got the respect that he deserved. 

Spock came into Jim’s office just before the news was due to air. “It’s fluff, Spock,” Jim warned him. “They’re not going to lead with it. We’ll be lucky if it’s on before the weather.”

Taking a seat on the tailored grey couch, Spock merely raised his eyebrows and reached for the remote control. Jim sighed and sank down next to him. They watched in silence as the newscasters enumerated the day’s local tragedies, including a jumper that held up the number two train during rush hour and a fire in a warehouse in Astoria. By the time the woman who’d interview Jim appeared on screen, standing out in front of Shop Around the Corner with McCoy, it was more than twenty minutes into the program. 

“It appears you were correct,” Spock stated.

“Shush. Make it louder,” Jim told him. “Figures they’d show him first.”

The reporter asked a number of basic, leading questions, and McCoy regurgitated an abridged version of what he’d said in the newspaper--super stores were for suburbs and strip malls, New York had an identity and history tied up in unique neighborhood shops that offered personal service, and so on.

“Blah, blah, blah,” Jim muttered. 

“Indeed.”

The camera zoomed in for a close up of McCoy. “I have met Jim Kirk,” he stated, “who’s responsible for bringing this mega-store into the area. And, when Neighborhood Sleuth closed, he told me that...” He paused, eyes shifting slightly. “...he’s a vulture picking on the carcass of a business he helped to kill. That’s the kind of man people are giving their hard-earned dollars.” 

Jim’s jaw dropped. “That son of a bitch.”

“Did you say such a thing?”

“I, well, sort of, but not seriously--that’s totally out of context!” 

The image shifted and Jim’s own face appeared, smiling at the camera. “It’s true, I sell discounted books,” screen-Jim said. “So, sue me.” The camera cut back to the newscaster, who said, “And that is Jim Kirk’s take on the war between Pike Books and The Shop Around the Corner.”

“What the hell!” Jim jumped up. “I can’t believe them!”

Spock remained seated, eyebrows arched. “I was under the impression you spent considerable time with the news crew.”

“I did. They filmed like twenty minutes of footage. I took her all over the store, showed her the display devoted to authors from the Upper West Side, told her we had more titles than the local branch library. I was charming and eloquent, and they cut it all so they could focus on that media-hungry lunatic,” he snapped. 

“He is understandably distressed at the possibility of losing his livelihood.”

Jim glared at Spock. “Whose side are you on?”

“I am not suggesting that we should remove ourselves from the fight, only that perhaps Mr. McCoy’s passion for the subject is not due to any mental imbalance.” 

“I don’t actually think he’s insane. But he’s behaving like we’ve painted a target on his forehead. This isn’t personal, Spock.”

“It is business.”

“Exactly.” Jim dropped down beside him, grabbed the remote, and turned the television off.

~*~

Leonard watched Hikaru buzzing around the shop at closing time. He’d been in a suspiciously good mood all day and had finally admitted to having a date that night. While he wouldn’t say with whom, both Leonard and Christine had their suspicions; Pavel had bounced out of the store the previous afternoon with even more pep than usual, and he and Hikaru had been trading shy smiles for weeks. 

“Okay, okay, enough fluttering,” he finally said. He waved Hikaru toward the door. “Get out of here, start your date.”

“Really? Thanks, boss!” Not needing to be told twice, he had grabbed his knapsack from the back and darted out the door between one breath and another.

Leonard threw the latch behind him and flipped the sign stating the store was closed. Then he turned toward Christine as she settled in a small child-sized chair with a sheaf of papers. “Okay,” he told her. “Lay it on me. How bad?”

She tidied the stack of papers, forcing the edges to line up with the flat of her hand, but merely shook her head.

Leonard sank down in a tiny chair across from her. “Really? No difference at all? Even with all that publicity?”

She shrugged. “It’s the holidays. That’s usually our busiest time. I suppose things might have been even worse without all the press, but as things stand, we’re down considerably from the same period last year.”

“Damn it.” He propped his elbows on his knees and ran his hands over his face, feeling a thousand years old. “What am I going to do, Chris?” he murmured. “How am I going to pull us out of this? I’m no business man. I’m just a washed out med student who likes books.”

“Len, this isn’t your fault. The industry is changing. You’re doing the best you can, but I don’t think it would have been any better if the M’Bengas still ran the store, and they owned it for more than thirty years.” 

~*~

Out of ideas, Leonard went home and turned on his laptop. He only hesitated for a few minutes before typing out the e-mail.

_From: Books_n_Bones  
To: Cap1701  
Subject: Advice_

_I need help. Do you still want to meet?_

_From: Cap1701  
To: Books_n_Bones  
Subject: RE: Advice_

_I would love to meet, Bones. Just tell me when and where._

~*~

“How will you identify him?”

Jim was beginning to regret asking Spock to walk with him. He was nervous--as nervous as he’d been asking Suzy Takanara to the school dance back when he was twelve--so he’d spilled the whole story out to his friend. Spock has been his usual stoic self, his reaction negligible, but when he agreed to go with Jim as far as the coffee shop, Jim had been grateful.

Unfortunately, Spock had kept up a steady stream of questions the entire way, which was doing nothing to ease the space ships orbiting in Jim’s stomach.

“He said he’d be wearing a dark green sweater and carrying a copy of Sherlock Holmes stories.” At his friend’s silence, he glanced over to find his expression puzzled. “What? You thought he’d have a red rose in his teeth?”

“That would be highly illogical, though it would surely make it impossible to overlook him.”

They arrived at Café Lalo a few minutes later and Jim hung back a moment, rubbing his chilled hands together--he’d forgotten his gloves at the office--and peered up at the entrance, situated a short flight of steps above street level. There was no way he could simply look in the window to identify his mystery man. He would have to go up the stairs to get a glimpse, revealing himself in the process.

“You are hesitating. I was under the impression you were anxious to meet this individual.”

“I am, I am. But. What if he looks like a serial killer?”

“I was unaware that serial killers were identifiable in such a way. Surely that would make it more difficult for them to perpetuate their crimes?”

Jim sighed. “Fine. What if he’s ugly?”

Spock’s brows rose. “You are not generally a shallow person. But if it would ease your nerves, I will look through the window and report what I see.”

“Yes. Please. Do that.” Jim managed a small smile. “Thanks, Spock.”

His friend climbed the steps and peered through the window to the side of the front door. “I see a number of gentlemen seated, most with companions.”

“Right, right, but any guys wearing green sweaters?”

“The lighting makes it difficult to know for sure. One moment.” He pulled the door open and slipped into the café, leaving Jim standing on the street below, shifting his weight from foot to foot. A moment later, Spock reemerged and came down the stairs. “I have seen the individual you are to meet.”

“You did? So? Was he good looking?”

“As I am not personally attracted to members of my own sex, I cannot say definitively what you will think, but I believe him to be what most people would consider handsome.”

Jim felt a strange sense of relief, given this wasn’t even really a date--just a coffee meeting between two people who’d been corresponding online, a chance to maybe help his friend out with his business woes. At least that was what he intended to keep telling himself. 

“Thanks, Spock, really. I appreciate it.”

“There is, however, one small problem.”

Jim, who had already been heading for the steps, stopped mid-stride. “What kind of a problem?”

“I do not believe you are fully prepared to meet with this person. In fact, I am quite concerned as to the potential outcome of such a meeting.”

Jim frowned. “English, please, Spock. Stop talking in circles. What are you trying to say?”

“The gentleman in the green sweater is Leonard McCoy.”

“Leonard McCoy? Shop Around the Corner Leonard McCoy?” Jim burst out.

“Indeed.”

“You’re sure.”

“Quite certain.”

Jim glanced helplessly back up toward the café. “Positive? There wasn’t another man in a green sweater?”

“Leonard McCoy also had a thick volume of Sherlock Holmes adventures on the table next to his coffee cup.”

Jim felt himself deflate. The let down was extraordinary, proving to him just how important this meeting--this friendship--was, no matter what he had told himself.

Spock watched him with nearly visible concern. “What do you plan to do?”

Realizing he was clenching his fists, Jim took a deep breath and let it out, forcing himself to relax. “Nothing. I’m not going to do anything.” He turned away from the stairs and started back in the direction of his apartment. “Good-night, Spock.”

“You’re just going to leave him sitting there?”

Jim glanced back. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. See you tomorrow.” Shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets, he walked away.

~*~

Continued in Part Five


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jim and Leonard have a difficult encounter, and Leonard comes to an even more difficult decision.

~*~

Leonard had been sitting alone long enough that he’d had to fight off two different people asking if they could borrow his empty chair, and to have drained his mug of coffee, though he’d been nursing it in deference to the late hour. He was beginning to suspect that he had been stood up.

“Damn fool,” he muttered under his breath, straightening his book and carefully dabbing a drop of coffee from the rose marbled tabletop. 

A waiter came over, head tipped solicitously. “Would you care for more coffee?” 

Leonard sighed and nodded. “Decaf this time, please,” he requested, wincing inwardly. He preferred the high octane version, but it was after eight o’clock and he’d never sleep if he had another cup. 

“Of course, sir.” The waiter whisked his mug and the soiled napkin away.

The bell over the front door jingled and Leonard glanced up. “Aw, hell.” In walked Jim Kirk, blond hair slightly ruffled from the evening breeze. He stood in front of the hostess station for a moment in a well-cut grey overcoat, blowing on his reddened hands and looking around. Leonard ducked as Kirk turned in his direction, shading part of his face from view with a hand to his forehead as he bent over his book and pretended to read. But a moment later a shadow fell across his table, and he knew he had been spotted.

“Leonard McCoy,” Kirk said, a smirk in his voice. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah, hey,” he responded, keeping his head down as if he were absorbed in his reading.

“You mind if I join you?” Kirk was already pulling out the chair across from Leonard.

“I do, actually,” he said, reaching for the chair a fraction too late. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Sherlock Holmes, huh?” Kirk asked, leaning over and twisting his head to the side in order to read the book’s cover. “From the condition of that binding, I’d say that’s an old childhood favorite.”

“What if it is?” Leonard grumbled.

“Hey, I’m all for rereading the classics. I bet you pull it out at least once a year.” Kirk sat down just as the waiter reappeared with Leonard’s fresh coffee.

“Thanks,” Leonard said, sliding the mug in front of him like a shield. 

“Would you like something, sir?” the waiter asked Kirk.

“He’s not going to be here long enough,” Leonard answered for him.

But Kirk just smiled up at the waiter. “Yes, please. I’d like the hot chocolate with a shot of espresso, extra whipped cream.”

“Very good, sir.”

Leonard rolled his eyes. “Should have known you’d drink something loaded with sugar and fat and caffeine. That’s gonna catch up with you in a few years, you know, and then you’ll be sorry.”

“Really? Well, thanks for the concern for my health. I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t. And I already said I’m waiting on someone. Go drink your frou-frou hot chocolate somewhere else.”

“I heard you. I’ll just stay until your friend gets here.” He glanced at his watch, then up at Leonard. “Are they running late?”

“A few minutes. He probably got held up at work,” Leonard said. “He happens to be a very busy, successful business man.”

“Oh, as opposed to me, right?”

“I’ve no doubt you’re busy and successful. Just don’t appreciate how you got that way,” Leonard snapped.

Kirk’s brows rose. “Interesting. Been looking into my background?”

Leonard deflated somewhat, having no real idea how Kirk got his job at Pike Books. “I never said that.” He took a gulp of his coffee, fighting down a grimace when he burned his tongue. 

“So, despite having no clue what I’ve done over the course of my career, you automatically assume the path is littered with dead bodies or something along those lines?” 

The easy assumption made Leonard feel defensive, mostly because he wasn’t far off. It’s not like he held a particularly good opinion of Kirk, despite the lack of facts. “I’m sure you did your share of backstabbing.”

“I see. Actually, I think you’d be surprised what you’d find if you took the time to really get to know me.”

“If I really knew you? Why bother? I’d just confirm what I already know. You’re a heartless bastard motivated by your profit margins and the bottom line.” 

The minute the words were out of his mouth, Leonard registered the way Jim Kirk’s expression froze on his face, even as he felt a sense of satisfaction at having nailed him right between the eyes. They sat in silence for a moment, but then the front door opened again, and Leonard glanced toward the front of the café, noting that Kirk turned to see who entered as well. Two older women came in, their meticulously coiffed silver-grey hair and dark fur coats marking them as Upper West Side matrons.

Kirk turned back to McCoy, brows arched, mirth twinkling in his bright blue eyes. The distraction had obviously enabled him to shake off his reaction to Leonard’s insults. His knowing look implied he understood just how anxious Leonard was to get rid of him.

Leonard gave up. “Please, just leave,” he said. “Really. There’s no reason for you to sit here and put us both through this.” 

Kirk looked more serious, and he gave a little nod, both hands lifted as if in surrender. He rose and moved to the table directly behind Leonard. From the corner of his eye, Leonard could see him taking off his coat. He swiveled in his seat and watched Kirk carefully drape the coat over the spare chair, then sit down with his back to Leonard’s own.

It wasn’t quite what Leonard had in mind. Kirk still felt too close, too intrusive, but there was little he could do. The man had moved, after all, and Leonard could hardly dictate how far he went, particularly since there were a fair number of patrons in the café. He turned back to his own coffee, but he couldn’t shake the sense of proximity. He would almost swear he could feel the heat Kirk gave off, crossing the short distance between their backs and enveloping him. 

The waiter arrived carrying Kirk’s hot chocolate, pausing mid-step for just a second before his gaze shifted and he continued to the next table. Leonard heard the quiet exchange behind him--Kirk thanking the man, asking for ice water--and then the waiter breezed back toward the kitchen. 

Leonard tried to relax. He stared at the front door, but no one new came into the café. He opened his book and thumbed through the stories, trying to decide which to read. 

“You know, Holmes never actually says ‘Elementary, my dear Watson,’” piped up Kirk over his shoulder.

Leonard jerked around with a growl. “What the hell?”

Kirk had turned in his chair, legs to the side, and was leaning over the back rest, a small smudge of chocolate marring his upper lip. He nodded toward Leonard’s book. “Sherlock Holmes. Everyone always quotes that line, but it comes from the films. Conan Doyle didn’t write it.” 

“Who told you that?”

“I’ve actually read all the Holmes books, but I can’t remember where I picked that up--probably in one of the biographies.”

Leonard arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t know the audio books were that comprehensive.” 

“I just said I read them,” Kirk said, expression becoming less open.

“Ah, my mistake. ‘Reading’ implies a certain level of literacy.”

Kirk frowned. “I’m hardly illiterate, McCoy.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, turning away. “You know what I meant.”

Kirk rose abruptly, three quick strides bringing him back around to the chair opposite Leonard. He leaned in across the table. “Yes. And you knew what I meant when I was talking about being a vulture, but that didn’t stop you from quoting me out of context on the evening news, did it?” he said, in a low, angry tone. 

“You poor baby,” Leonard said. “With your tailored suits and your pricy watch and your stock options. My heart bleeds for you.” He heard the bells over the door and looked up.

Kirk turned also. “I take it that’s not your successful business man, either, huh?” he asked, when a man in a red-satin-lined evening cloak and top hat entered. “So, who is this guy you’re waiting so patiently for, despite the fact that he’s obviously late? Are you planning to be mean to him, too?”

“Of course I won’t. The man I’m waiting for is your polar opposite. He’s kind and helpful and good-hearted,” Leonard sputtered. “He’s caring, has a wonderful sense of humor...” 

“And yet, he’s not here, is he?” Kirk pointed out, sounding smug. 

“Well, if he’s not here it’s because he has a damned good reason, because he doesn’t have it in him to be cruel. Not that I’d expect you to understand someone like that. You think you’re this great business genius, helping Pike spread his multiplex monstrosities all over the country, bring books to the masses. But no one’s going to remember you, Jim Kirk. Your name isn’t even the one over the door. And maybe no one will remember me, but they’ll remember all the characters they discovered in my shop--Eloise and the Velveteen Rabbit, Mike Mulligan and Curious George, Wilbur and Charlotte, and Ramona and Aslan. They’ll remember that store as something unique and special, that touched their lives. You? You’re nothing but a suit.”

By the time the words finished pouring out of him, Leonard was a bit out of breath. But instead of feeling justified, as he had after zinging Kirk earlier, this time he felt the slightest pang of guilt. The man’s expression had frozen again, but his eyes were shadowed and--though Leonard would have thought this impossible--hurt. 

Kirk’s gaze shifted down for a moment, and his brows rose and fell as if in punctuation. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “Well. I think that’s my cue to leave.” He stood and pulled his billfold from his pocket. He stepped around Leonard to drop some money on his table and retrieve his coat.

Leonard sat stiffly, unsure what to say, suspecting he had said quite enough. 

“Have a good night,” Kirk said in passing, shrugging into his overcoat as he strode toward the exit and into the night.

~*~

Jim walked home. The temperature had dropped, and his hands were blocks of ice by the time he reached his apartment, but his temper had eased, if ever so slightly. He wanted to kick himself for not coming straight home when he told Spock he was leaving, instead of waffling like an idiot, circling the damn block three times and then going into the café. There was no way it could have ended well; he had known that going in. He just hadn’t expected to leave feeling so...bruised.

He poured a nightcap and drank it down in a few quick swallows. It burned his stomach, which held nothing but a few sips of hot chocolate, but he had no appetite. Going into his office, he stared at the laptop where it perched on his antique oak desk, then he shut off the light and headed for the bedroom. He changed into old sleep pants, hung up his suit, tossed his shirt and socks into the laundry, and went to wash up. Then he crawled into bed. Several books called to him from his nightstand, but Jim ignored them. He simply turned out the light and burrowed into his pillow. If he was lucky, he might actually fall asleep. 

~*~

Leonard couldn’t bring himself to wait any longer after Kirk’s departure. Whatever had happened to Cap1701, it was pretty clear he would not be coming that night. He paid his tab and left.

His apartment was cold, the radiator silent. Leonard mumbled under his breath as he turned the knob all the way off and then all the way back on three times--the trick that seemed to jump start the ancient contraption the previous winter. He waited a few minutes and was rewarded by the obnoxious clanging that signaled he would soon have some warm air wafting through the bedroom. 

He’d avoided looking at the computer the entire time he worked on the heater, but now it was like a beacon. Still wearing his coat, Leonard dropped down at his desk and turned on the laptop. He waited while it booted up, then went online. But his inbox was empty. If Cap1701 was planning to send an explanation for his absence, he had yet to do so. 

All in all, it had been a crappy evening. Feeling the heat starting to permeate the apartment, he peeled off his coat and went for his most reliable cure-all--a good, stiff glass of bourbon.

~*~

_From: Books_n_Bones  
To: Cap1701  
Subject: last night_

_I’ve been thinking about you, about what might have kept you away last night. My co-workers have offered up any number of explanations--from subway accident to getting amnesia. One even suggested you were the West Side Strangler. The cops finally picked him up just a couple of blocks from the café where we were supposed to meet. But the general opinion is you just stood me up._

_I wish I knew why you weren’t there. I was, and I waited, feeling like a bigger and bigger fool as the night went on. Plus someone else showed up--this guy who’s making my professional life miserable. I said some harsh things to him, and at the time I meant every word, but afterwards I felt like something the cat dragged in--the worst sort of bad. I was cruel to him, and that’s just not me. I can’t imagine it affected him in the least--I’m just a small bump in his road to greater successes--but what if it did bother him? Truth is, whatever he’s done to me, it doesn’t excuse my behavior._

_Anyway, the experience made me want to talk to you all the more. You have a way of putting my thoughts straight. I hope you have a good reason for not showing up. You don’t strike me as the type of guy to set a man up on a prank or something of that nature. I know we mostly talk about nothing in our e-mails and chats, but I have to admit, our “nothing” is more important to me than so many supposedly real interactions I’ve had. So, thank you for that, and I sincerely hope that you’re well._

~*~

Jim finished reading the e-mail from McCoy and stared at the computer screen for a long time before logging out. He rose and wandered around his apartment, fixing himself a sandwich for dinner, grabbing a beer out of the fridge. He sat on the couch and sifted through the pile of mail he’d dumped on the coffee table when he arrived home--some bills, the latest issue of _The New Yorker_ , a flyer for a cleaning service. But the entire time, McCoy’s words filtered through his brain.

Beer in hand, Jim ambled back toward his office. He stood in the doorway and stared at his idle laptop, swigging back several gulps of beer until he’d drained it. Then he headed back to the kitchen and traded his empty for a bottle of water. A moment later he was back in the doorway to his office.

Finally he went in and sat down, resigned to the fact he wasn’t going to get anything done until he sent McCoy some sort of response. He brought up the e-mail again and opened a new window, then started to type. It took several false starts, riddled with ridiculous excuses such as a sudden trip out of the country, and a power-and-phone outage in his office building. But eventually he realized that he owed McCoy the truth--or at least as close to the truth as he could get without actually telling him who he was. He wasn’t quite ready to give up these exchanges, and he knew if he confessed all, that would put a stop to their correspondence faster than he could hit the Enter key.

_From: Cap1701  
To: Books_n_Bones  
Subject: Where I was_

_Dear Bones,_

_I can’t tell you what happened last night, but I hope you can forgive me. I feel terrible that you found yourself in an uncomfortable situation. But I’m sure that whatever you said was provoked. It’s not unusual for people to lash out when they’re stressed or worried. You were hoping to meet with a friend, and instead encountered an enemy. It’s all my fault, and I’m sincerely sorry. I’ll explain someday, but in the meantime, I’m here. Please talk to me._

~*~

“Does he want to try to meet again?” Hikaru asked, as he and Leonard walked toward Christine’s apartment. It was a cold day, but the sun shone brightly on their side of the street, balancing out the icy wind.

“No, he didn’t bring it up, and it’s probably just as well. Whatever happened, he changed his mind, but at least we can still e-mail each other. It’s good to know we didn’t ruin that with this little attempt to meet. Let’s not talk about it, okay?” Leonard asked, scrunching down into his muffler as a particularly brutal gust barreled down upon them.

Hikaru nodded, apparently unaffected by the temperature, neck bare, coat open at the collar. “Sure thing, boss.”

“You can call me Leonard, you know. I’ve told you at least a hundred times.”

The other man shrugged. “Can’t help it. It’s a habit. And you really don’t look like a Leonard,” he added, as they rang the buzzer for Christine’s building. 

~*~

Christine had a warm, inviting little apartment, with mismatched furniture and china, and walls lined window to window with overstuffed bookcases and small framed prints of the English countryside, the occasional black-and-white photo thrown in for good measure. It was, Leonard always thought, like stepping into the setting for a cozy British mystery. All Chris needed was a yappy Pekinese or a fluffy cat that shed on your trouser leg every time it sidled past. 

They’d enjoyed a lovely lunch of roast chicken, warm potato salad, and fresh greens, and now Chris stood in the pint-sized kitchen transferring the selection of miniature pastries he’d brought from their bakery box to a platter with a green ivy pattern. She’d forbidden any serious talk throughout the meal, though the purpose of the gathering was supposedly to discuss business. Leonard hadn’t really minded the delay. He wasn’t anxious to spoil everyone’s lunch. 

Chris set the platter in the center of the small table and filled everyone’s coffee cup. Settling into her chair, she fixed him with a purposeful look. 

Leonard sighed and took a sip of his coffee. He watched as Hikaru tried to hand the plate of desserts to Chris--ostensibly to prove he was a gentleman--before he succumbed to her waved hand and chose a miniature éclair for himself. Pavel hesitated, then took a tiny berry-covered tart. 

“Len?” Chris offered.

“Nah, you go ahead, darlin’. I’m full of that delicious lunch of yours.”

Chris smiled knowingly but helped herself to a bite-sized brownie. “So? What have you decided to do?”

Three expectant faces angled toward Leonard, and for a moment he wished the floor would simply swallow him up. “Close,” he admitted, looking down into his coffee cup. “I’ve decided to close.”

“Close,” Pavel echoed mournfully. He stuffed his entire tart into his mouth and reached for a rum ball. 

Chris nodded. “Closing is the brave decision.”

Leonard let out a snort. “Not so brave. Not even much of a decision. It’s close now or go into debt trying to stay afloat, and I don’t see much point in that.”

“Of course it’s brave,” Chris admonished. “You’re jumping into the unknown, starting fresh. Who knows what kind of fabulous adventures you’ll have?”

“This is business not a children’s story, Chris.” Leonard shrugged. “I’ve got a little money put away, but I’ve still got child support, rent on my place. I don’t have time for adventures. Thank God Joce had the good sense to remarry--at least I’m done with alimony.”

“It’ll all work out,” Hikaru declared. 

“Since when did you become Mr. Optimism?” Leonard asked.

Hikaru flushed slightly, but glanced toward Pavel. 

“Never mind,” Leonard said. 

“I think you’ll be surprised at the opportunities that come your way, once word gets out,” Chris said. “Try to keep an open mind, Len. I mean, you never thought you’d end up running a bookstore when you quit med school, did you?”

“And look how well that turned out,” he grumbled, but he smiled a little sheepishly, knowing she was right. “Thanks, Chris. All of you. I’m sorry to leave you out in the cold.”

“We’re going to be fine, too, Len. Don’t you worry.” Chris patted him on the shoulder and then scooped up the platter of pastries and waved them under his nose. “Now take one of these before I eat them all myself. If I can’t fit into my new spring dress, I’m going to blame you.”

Leonard let out a genuine laugh at her determined expression, then claimed the tiny pecan pie they had clearly left just for him.

~*~

Continued in Part Six


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leonard comes to the end of another phase in his life, and Jim has something of a realization.

~*~

The sale signs in the window depressed Leonard when he arrived each morning, but the shop was too busy for him to really dwell on it over the course of the day. He’d reduced all stock by forty percent, and gone around putting tags on all the fixtures and posters, indicating what was for sale and what was not. He’d already taken Doctor Bear and the beanbag chair home for Joanna, and he was tempted to pull the For Sale sign off the giant Narnia poster; Jo hadn’t read those books yet, but she would be old enough soon and he knew she would love them. 

Customers he hadn’t seen for years--their children grown into more adult reading selections--dropped by to reminisce and tell him how sorry they were to hear about the closing. One woman showed up to tell him how she’d visited the store with her mother every weekend as a child, back in the days when the M’Bengas were the owners. She walked the perimeter of the store, loving stroking her hand over the bookcases, and ended up bursting into tears. Leonard had sent her off with a boxed set of the Anne Shirley books and a wad of tissues. 

Shelves slowly emptied. Pale rectangles appeared on walls where posters had been removed, gone off with their new owners. A couple came in--the wife heavily pregnant--and purchased the complete Beatrix Potter stories for their unborn baby, and Leonard threw in all his twinkle lights as a gift. The front window looked naked without them, but he liked the idea of them brightening up a tiny nursery somewhere. 

Leonard kept bracing himself for Jim Kirk to call or appear. He knew he’d purchased much of the leftover stock when Neighborhood Sleuth shut their doors, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d try to do the same with him. After their run in at the café, he was dreading seeing the man again. Despite his remorse for what he’d said that night, he couldn’t guarantee he could be polite the next time. Something about Kirk just brought out the very worst in him. 

Clean up was minimal each night, since there was no longer any new stock to put out on the shelves. Leonard sent everyone home at closing time and took care of the rest himself, straightening what remained on the shelves and making sure they had a supply of bags and wrap ready for the next morning. Some nights he’d stop by Finnegan’s on his way home, allowing himself a single drink and a half-hour’s conversation with Scotty before taking off, but most nights he simply went for a walk.

One night, just a few weeks before he was set to close his doors for good, Leonard found himself standing on the sidewalk in front of Pike Books. It had been months, and he had yet to set foot inside the store. It was a matter of principle. But he had to admit he was curious to see what it was actually like--if it was as soulless as he had always imagined. 

Taking a deep breath, Leonard pushed through the revolving door and into the store’s towering entry. 

~*~

It was sheer chance that Jim was in the back office when Leonard McCoy walked into Pike Books. He caught sight of him on the security monitors and had to do a double take. He couldn’t believe the man was actually in his store. 

Jim leaned in and watched as McCoy stood just inside and stared all around. He seemed almost to be in a daze. Something clenched deep in Jim’s gut. He knew McCoy was upset about his own shop closing, knew he blamed Jim for putting him out of business. Just a few weeks ago, when he’d learned McCoy was actually his anonymous correspondent, Jim had looked him in the eye that night and been unable to reconcile the two personalities. But after reading McCoy’s e-mail following their meeting, he had begun to get glimpses of overlap. Now it was impossible to see him wandering around, staring at the shelves, running his fingertips gently over the displays, and not understand that this was his friend--his Bones--and that he was genuinely hurting.

Careful to keep out of sight, Jim crept out onto the floor and made his way to the children’s department, certain that’s where McCoy would end up. Sure enough, he climbed the stairs slowly just a moment later, homing in on the pictures books and early readers like a man coming home.

Jim was proud of their children’s department. He knew McCoy would be predisposed to be critical, but the man knew his business and had a great store and part of Jim just wanted him to be impressed, as unlikely as it was. As he watched his progress, he kept his eyes glued to the man’s expression, hoping for some glimmer of honest feeling that would tell Jim what he really thought. 

McCoy wandered at a leisurely pace, up and down each aisle. He peered at the giant case filled with stuffed animals, each creature a character from some beloved children’s book, from Clifford to Peter Rabbit to Babar. It was late enough that there were no children present, but one or two parents meandered through the department, and McCoy watched them as they made their selections. 

Eventually he took a seat at the child-sized table at one end of the floor. A gigantic Madeline doll sat in one of the other chairs, and Jim struggled not to smile as McCoy reached over and straightened her up, combing his fingers through her bright yarn hair so it all hung evenly.

Just beyond McCoy, a woman began talking to one of the sales people. Jim inched closer to he could listen to the conversation but made sure to stay ducked down behind a fixture so McCoy wouldn’t notice him. He strained to hear as the woman asked something about shoe books. 

“I don’t know the author,” she explained. “But a friend of mine told me I should get the shoe books for my girls, that they’d love them.”

It took a moment for it to click in Jim’s mind--he hadn’t ever worked solely in the children’s department and so his knowledge of titles tended to be a little spotty--but these books were classics, even if he’d never read them himself.

The sales clerk, however, seemed less familiar with them than Jim was. “I’m not really certain,” he told the customer. “Do you know anything else about them?”

“Noel Streatfeild,” McCoy piped up in a gruff voice. “She wrote the shoe books. There’s _Ballet Shoes_ and _Theater Shoes_ and _Skating Shoes_ and _Party Shoes_. They’re not all in print, but I saw _Ballet Shoes_ on your shelves,” he added, pointing toward the middle grade section. 

“Thanks,” said the clerk. “Here, why don’t I walk you over there,” he added to the customer, heading where McCoy had indicated. 

Jim shook his head. They’d held careful interviews for all their employees. They were well read and loved books, but they were only human. He stifled a sigh, knowing McCoy had probably just filed this away as further proof that Pike Books was filled with robots pushing coffee drinks. Somehow, the idea left him feeling hollow.

~*~

Gaila perused the menu while Jim sipped at his martini. They hadn’t gone out in a couple of weeks. Oh, they’d gotten together a few nights at their respective apartments with the intention of having sex, but each time it had devolved into work and shop talk, each of them pulling out laptops and comparing industry gossip. Jim suspected they were petering into a straight friendship instead of the friends-with-benefits deal they had been juggling the past six months. He was surprisingly fine with that, but he’d felt it only fair to give it one final run to make sure he wasn’t alone in his assumptions.

“I think I’m going to have the salmon. How about you?” 

“Hmm. Pasta. Maybe the Bolognese.”

“Long run tomorrow?” Gaila teased.

Jim shrugged. “Just hungry.” He reached for the wine list. What the hell went with both spaghetti Bolognese and broiled salmon? He’d really wanted a cab. Maybe a nice pinot noir would work. 

“So, everyone at the office was talking about Leonard McCoy today.”

Jim looked up. “Why?”

Gaila slanted him a look that said ‘don’t be an idiot.’ “Come on, Jimmy, the man’s an institution. Shop Around the Corner is the only children’s bookstore left standing in Manhattan, and in a couple of days it will be gone.”

“I get that, G, but what does that have to do with a bunch of literary agents? I thought your water cooler gossip was more along the lines of which editors are pissing off your clients.”

She shrugged and turned as the waiter approached. “I’d like the broiled salmon with the potato, please, and the roasted vegetables on the side.”

Jim ordered his own meal and the wine and waited for the waiter to discreetly disappear. “Seriously, Gaila. What gives?”

“We were wondering what he was going to do next. Have you heard anything?”

“No,” he admitted. Bones hadn’t actually said anything about closing his business yet—their e-mails had carefully skirted the topic since the night at Café Lalo. Jim assumed he was keeping things light for fear of chasing Cap1701 off, and Jim hadn’t wanted to push for fear of giving away how much he really knew about the situation. He’d avoided making any offers for his remaining stock for much the same reason. He doubted the man would appreciate it.

“So, a couple of us thought he might make a great agent, specializing in children’s books of course.”

“What even makes you think he’d be interested in something like that?”

“He’s got fabulous taste, Jim. The sales guys at all the major houses love him. If he’s behind a title, it usually flies off the shelves. And he has to do something. It makes perfect sense for him to become an agent, that or an editor. He knows the market inside and out, and he could learn the rest of the business end pretty quickly.”

Jim’s gaze narrowed. “Who have you really been talking to?”

Gaila smirked and took a sip of her campari and soda, the ruby liquid a near match for her lips. “Okay, fine. Ny and I were discussing it.”

“You and Nyota Uhura have been planning out McCoy’s next career move?” he sputtered. Somehow the image made him angry. After all was said and done, he wanted to be the one to help Bones. He felt he owed it to him. 

“Jim, you realize that Ny knows Len, right? Not well, but well enough.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I’d figured it out when he showed up at her party last fall.”

“So, she put a few feelers out. I think she figures if she goes to him with genuine interest and a couple of options, he’ll take it in the spirit it’s given--a friend offering up ideas instead of charity. He’s a bit prickly about stuff like that, apparently.”

Jim chuckled. “I can imagine. Has she said anything to him yet?”

“No. I think she’s waiting a few weeks. Giving him a little time to mourn and wallow.”

“Nice sentiment.”

“I think she knows him well enough to make that sort of call. She doesn’t want him to bite her head off, but she doesn’t want him to go do something stupid because he’s desperate.”

That made Jim sit up. “What do you mean?” he asked, feeling apprehensive.

Gaila rolled her eyes. “Nothing like that. I just mean he might take any old job just to pay the rent. Plus he’s got a kid back down south somewhere, apparently. Child support.”

That made something click in his head. He knew Bones had a daughter--he remembered him mentioning that he wasn’t going to get to see her for the holidays. He let out a long sigh. “Shit.”

“Now he grows a conscience,” Gaila murmured. “Look, Jimmy, don’t go there. This isn’t your fault. Despite the way things are playing out, I suspect McCoy knows that too. He’s not happy--you can’t blame him--but he’s too smart to really believe that you are personally responsible for the demise of his store.”

Jim thought of Bones’s blank expression as he wandered through Pike’s a couple of weeks earlier. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

They changed the subject after that to their respective schedules, friends and so on. Their meals came and they ate quietly, sipped their wine, and chatted occasionally in between. By the end of the evening, it was pretty obvious to Jim where things were headed. He helped Gaila into her coat and they exited the restaurant.

“Want me to get you a cab?” he asked.

Gaila smiled gently. “I’m just a couple of blocks, you know that. I’ll walk.” She brushed a kiss over his cheek, then carefully wiped the smudge of lipstick. “Talk soon, okay?”

“You got it.” He returned her kiss, gave her a little squeeze, as well. Then he watched her walk to the end of the block and disappear around the corner with a wave.

~*~

_From: Cap1701  
To: Books_n_Bones  
Subject: change_

_Hey, Bones--_

_Earlier this week I went out to dinner with the woman I’ve been seeing, and at the end of the night I went home alone. We’d been drifting apart for a while, not that things were ever more than casual, but lately it seemed like we never actually got past talking._

_I’ve never been the type to seek a real commitment in my relationships. I’m upfront about it, as are my partners, so no one ever gets hurt when things end. This was no different. I count her a good friend, and I can’t see anything changing that._

_Even so, I’m a little sadder right now. Inexplicably so. I suppose on some level I just feel lonely._

 

~*~

_From: Books_n_Bones  
To: Cap1701  
Subject: RE: change_

_Seems to be a lot of changes in the air._

_This week I closed my store. Did I ever tell you I owned a store? It’s something I fell into purely by chance after my dad died and I dropped out of medical school. I needed money, so I took a job at this little shop while I got my head on straight and figured out what to do. That job saw me through my grief for my dad, my marriage crumbling and the subsequent divorce, my ex taking my daughter and moving away. And when the owners of the store decided to retire, they gave it to me at a good price and with their blessing. Shutting the doors was like saying goodbye to another member of my family--letting go of the one thing I had left._

_I’m not a man to talk about my feelings, certainly not aloud. But here, in this place where we trade nothing more than electronic blips, I think it’s safe to tell you that I’m heartbroken._

~*~

Jim met Chris Pike at seven a.m. at the corner of 79th and Central Park West as requested. It was rare for the men to run together, at least these days; Chris was the one who’d introduced Jim to running when he was still just a kid. So when Jim received the message on his work voice mail, he had wondered, but he certainly hadn’t hesitated.

Chris was in excellent shape for his age, his trim physique the work of years of discipline, an approach to health and personal care that he had tried to drill into Jim with varying degrees of success. Still, Jim smiled at the sight of his boss in his running shorts, t-shirt and lightweight hoody, stretching out carefully, one hand resting on the stone wall separating the sidewalk from the park. If he looked half that good at sixty, he’d be satisfied.

“Okay, old man,” he teased, jogging up. “What’s on the schedule?”

Straightening up from a shallow lunge, Chris cocked his head. “You’re asking for it, Kirk.”

Jim shrugged. “We heading toward the reservoir?”

“Good a route as any. Let’s go.”

They started at an easy pace in deference to the early hour and chilly spring temperatures. Besides which, Jim knew these companionable runs were generally an excuse for Chris to talk to him outside of work. Chances were pretty evenly split between shop talk and something personal, but either way, it wouldn’t do for them to get winded before Chris even broached the subject. 

A few other joggers passed them going in both directions, and they overtook the usual assortment of people out walking their dogs or simply keeping a slower pace. The air smelled fresh, or at least as fresh as it got in the center of Manhattan, newly sprouting green things surrounding the path and reminding them that summer wasn’t far off. Once the final traces of snow melted and the temperature climbed past seventy, it was generally a rapid shift to hot, humid weather. Spring in New York City was lovely, but if you blinked you had a good chance of missing it entirely.

Jim felt his muscles protesting the reserved pace. He generally ran faster than this, and he had been running a great deal in recent months. The exercise seemed to be the only thing that kept his brain from dashing about in circles. Work was going well, and he’d spent some entertaining weekends with Peter recently, now that Aurelan was expecting again and Sam wanted her to take it easy. Things were good, but still, he felt restless. 

“Okay Jim, spit it out.”

Jim jolted at Chris’s sudden order. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been brooding for weeks. I want to know what the hell is eating at you.”

Jim felt the urge to turn and run in the other direction. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Chris shook his head, then nodded toward a water fountain, indicating they should pull over. Jim jogged in place while Chris took a series of long gulps, but when his boss finished and turned stern eyes in his direction, he stuttered to a halt. “What?”

“Look, you don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to,” Chris said, walking back toward the path. “But don’t lie to my face. I know you better than that.”

Jim fell in step next to him. “Sorry. I don’t mean to. I just... there’s no solution here. Nothing I can do. Okay?”

“You’d tell me if I could help?”

Jim nodded.

Chris picked up his pace again and Jim matched his stride. “I’m going to head out to the house in Mojave next week for a few days. Get caught up on some reading, ride the horses. You could join me if you wanted. When was the last time you took a vacation?”

“I dunno. I’ll probably take off when Aurelan has the baby, keep Peter for a week maybe.”

“Jim, that’s not for another six months. Not to mention it hardly sounds relaxing.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “It’s not like I’m laying bricks, Chris. I love my job. Plus it doesn’t make sense for us both to take time. Someone should hold down the fort.”

“Spock can handle things for three days, Jim. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Why don’t you get my mom to join you instead?” Jim suggested.

Chris nearly missed a step, and Jim reached out and grabbed him by the arm to steady him. “Whoa there,” he said. 

Chris shook him off. “Last I checked, your mother’s back in Iowa with her latest husband. Unless you know something I don’t?” 

“No, no,” Jim said. “They’re still married last I heard. But ask anyway, I’m sure she’d be happy to pull another switch.”

Chris shook his head. “Not going to happen, Jim. Just leave it be.”

Jim stopped abruptly. Chris ran a few hundred feet before he realized he was alone and circled back. “What is it? “ he asked, slowing in front of Jim. “Don’t tell me you were actually serious?”

“About you and Winona? Of course I am. Chris, you’ve been in love with my mother since I was a kid. What the hell are you waiting for? I just don’t get it, man. You’re ten times the person any of those bozos she’s married were. Why haven’t you made your move?”

Chris exhaled harshly, leaning over and bracing his palms just above his knees. He stretched out his calves, bouncing gently, then straightened again. “Let’s go get something to drink. It’s pretty obvious we aren’t going to get in much of a workout.”

“Fine.”

They strolled in silence until they reached a vendor and Chris bought them two bottles of water. He handed one to Jim and took a long drink from his own. 

“Okay,” he said finally, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “I probably should have told you all this a long time ago, but first you were too young, and later, well, it just didn’t seem that important anymore.”

“What didn’t?”

Chris shot him a look. “You want to hear this or not?”

“I do.”

“Then shut up. Okay. You know your mom and dad and I were all friends in college. Were all the same class, even though I was a couple of years older because I’d taken some time off after high school.”

“Right.”

“What you don’t know is I dated Winona first. Just one dinner, but I fell hard. I don’t know if she realized then. Maybe. She was always smart. But then she came back to the dorm with me and George was home.”

“Home?”

“We were roommates freshman year. Actually, every year, until he and your mom got married.”

“I didn’t realize.”

Chris shrugged. He wandered off the path and sat on a park bench, legs stretched out, feet flexed hard. Jim paced in front of him, focused on the story. He so rarely heard anything about his father.

“George took one look at Winona and he was a goner. I could see it--he was absolutely mesmerized. They talked a few minutes before she remembered she was supposed to be with me--I had just wanted to pick up a jacket because the temperature had dropped, and then we were going to a movie. We still went, but I knew that was it.”

“What happened?”

“George asked me the next day, how I felt about her. If I thought there was something there. He didn’t need to say why he was asking. He was trying to be a good guy, put our friendship first. So I told him to go for it.”

“You did?”

“I could see she was interested in him, too, though she didn’t fall as fast as he did. Or maybe she did and I just didn’t know her well enough to see it the way I could with George. So they went out, and then they went steady, and then they got engaged. Sam came along ten months after they got married.”

“And you? What did you do? I mean, you’ve never been married.”

“I’ve had my fair share of relationships. Lived with a few women. But Winona was always it for me.” He turned and pinned Jim with a piercing stare. “And George was always it for her.”

“But he’s been dead for thirty years, Chris.”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s tried. That’s why all those guys, the live-ins and the husbands.” He shook his head. “She still loves your dad, Jim, and that’s never going to change. Anyone she tries to slot into that place is doomed to fail. I might love her, but I know better than to try. Just like I knew better than to stand between them at the beginning.”

Jim nodded slowly. “Does she know? How you feel now, I mean?”

“We’ve never talked about it. Sometimes I’ve thought maybe--when you were a kid and acting up and she’d call me to come help out. But it doesn’t really matter what she knows. It doesn’t change anything.”

Jim dropped onto the bench next to Chris. “So that’s it, then.”

“It’s the choice I’ve made. Or rather, a series of choices, because I didn’t just make it once.”

Jim stared out in the park, at the greenery, the clusters of trees, the paths weaving through the grass. “That might be the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”

Chris let out a bark of laughter. “I didn’t tell you to depress you, son. I’ve had a good life--still have one, for that matter. And there have been one or two people where I thought, maybe, possibly, we could make a go of it. But the doubt was there in my mind, and it didn’t seem fair to them, not to give them my whole heart.”

“How do you know? How can you be so sure that you couldn’t if you just risked it?”

“I suppose I don’t, but again, that’s been my choice. Sometimes you just connect with a person and you know, they’re the one for you. That person that shares your interests and your determination and your spirit—the way you soldier through life. And if you’re very lucky, they see you that way as well. If you find someone like that, my advice is to grab hold and never let go.” 

He patted Jim lightly on the shoulder. “Let’s get out of here and find some breakfast. I’m starving.”

~*~

Continued in Part Seven


	7. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jim attempts to win Leonard over.

~*~

Leonard knew it wasn’t technically possible to die from a bad cold, but between the pounding headache, the clogged sinuses, and the rumbling cough that wouldn’t let him sleep, he was tempted to pray for a quick and painless death. However, a pimply-faced delivery boy had finally found his way over from the drug store, so he was willing to hold off on more dire measures in hopes that extra strength cough suppressant and some tea with honey would knock him out in a more positive manner. Unfortunately, the arrival of medication also meant he would have to eliminate his favorite ingredient from Gran’s hot toddy recipe, at least for the time being. 

He sat at his tiny table and watched the kettle perched on the blue burner flame for any signs of boiling. His eyelids felt heavy, droopy even, but every time he dosed for more than a few seconds, another rattling cough would shake loose from its moorings and startle him back to full consciousness. What he really wanted, he thought sleepily, was some soup. None of that plain old chicken nonsense, either. Some sizzling hot and sour from Mr. Wong’s down the block would hit the spot. Maybe with a little spicy mustard stirred in, to give it that extra kick. His sinuses wouldn’t know what hit them. But Mr. Wong’s didn’t start delivering until after six, so tea would do for now. 

Steam finally began rising from the kettle, setting the stupid whistle going. Leonard snatched it up before the dang fool thing punctured his ear drums and poured the bubbling water into his mug, drenching the bag of Earl Grey. He watched the water darken, gave the bag a good dunk or two, then pushed himself to his feet to go get the honey bear from the cupboard. 

When the door buzzer rang, Leonard cursed and shifted directions. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but then both Christine and Hikaru knew he was sick, and he wouldn’t put it past either of them to drop by and check on him. He slapped his hand against the intercom button and leaned his forehead wearily against the wall as he spoke. 

“Who’s there?”

There was a small pause, then a man’s voice floated through the speaker. “It’s Jim Kirk.”

Leonard frowned. “What do you want?”

“Can I come up for a minute?”

Leonard let out a sigh that started him coughing. “I’m sick, damn it,” he managed. “Hear that?”

“Yeah, sounds lousy. I just want to talk to you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Leonard told him, wishing he had the energy to work up some righteous anger. “Seriously, you don’t want to deal with me right now. I’m stuffy and coughing and my head is killing me. Plus I’m probably contagious, and I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, not even you. Whatever it is you want--”

A sharp rap on the door reverberated through his aching head and made him jump away from the wall. “Shit,” Leonard mumbled. He leaned in to peer through the peep hole, already knowing what he was going to see. Sure enough, there was Jim Kirk, standing in the hallway, blue eyes earnest, face all too attractive even when distorted by the small glass lens. “Goddamn annoying bastard,” he huffed quietly. But his fingers moved automatically to take the chain off the door and throw open the dead bolts. He pulled the door open with a growl. “Why the hell are you here?” 

Kirk smiled--that same friendly, falsely innocent smile Leonard remembered from the first day he had met the sunny asshole--and held up a medium-sized brown paper bag. “I heard you were sick, so I brought you a care package.”

Leonard stared at him suspiciously for a long moment while Kirk waited patiently on his doormat, clearly hoping for an invitation. Feeling too crappy to resist him, Leonard finally stepped back and held the door open. Kirk clearly knew better than to wait for anything more formal or welcoming, and scooted past him into the apartment. 

“So what’s in the bag?” he asked as he pushed the door closed. 

“Soup,” Kirk said, already heading toward the kitchen. “Hikaru told me you like the Chinese place on 85th, so I went there. I hope hot and sour’s okay? It’s what I get when I’m sick.”

Leonard frowned, disturbed at the idea that he and Kirk had something in common. “How’s Hikaru doing?” he asked. “Thanks for hiring him and Pavel on, by the way.”

Kirk pulled a large plastic take-out container from the brown bag and set it on the counter. “Bowls?”

Leonard pointed. “Top, over the microwave.”

“Ah, thanks,” he said, pulling down one of the deep blue bowls. “They’re both doing great. Hikaru asked if he could start a newsletter. Said you used to do one. Do you mind if I let him?”

“Mind? Why would I mind?” Leonard slumped back down at the table. A small part of his brain protested, pointing out that he should not be letting Jim Kirk serve him in his own home, but the thought was fleeting and quickly got lost in all the congestion crowding his head.

Kirk set a steaming bowl in front of him. Somewhere he’d found a large spoon and a napkin, which he placed beside the bowl. Several packets of duck sauce and hot mustard appeared a moment later. 

“I didn’t want to be accused of stealing your marketing ideas.”

Leonard carefully unfolded the napkin and laid it over his lap. “I didn’t invent newsletters.” He picked up the spoon and took a cautious sip of the soup. The hot liquid raced down his throat and he let out a small sigh of contentment. 

“Good?”

“Delicious.” He took another bite, then looked up, blinking at Kirk, who was leaning against the counter next to him, arms folded across his chest, looking pleased with himself. “Aren’t you going to have some?”

Kirk shook his head. “Nah, I brought it for you.” He glanced around. “That your tea? Want me to reheat it for you?”

Leonard glanced at the mug that sat cooling on the countertop, waiting for him to fetch the honey. “Um, no. Thanks. Soup’s fine for now.” Setting down his spoon, he picked up one of the mustard packets and tore open the top, then carefully drizzled a tiny bit into the soup. He gave it a stir, then took another bite. “Ahh.”

There was movement beside him, but Leonard’s reactions were starting to slow down. He realized the cough syrup must have finally kicked in because, despite the soup and the small bits of conversation, he hadn’t coughed since he’d let Kirk in. A box of tissues clunked down on the table in front of him and he glanced up again.

Kirk shrugged. “Figured that soup’s going to start clearing your head. Might need those.”

Leonard opened his mouth to thank him again, but instead heard himself saying, “You put me out of business.” His tone wasn’t accusatory however. More like...confused. 

“Yes, I did,” Kirk agreed. 

“So are you gonna gloat?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.”

Leonard frowned. “Are you here to offer me a job, too? Because I don’t need to work in your store, you know. I’ve actually had offers from a bunch of different directions.”

“I wouldn’t dream of offering you a job, McCoy. I do know better than that,” Kirk said, sounding almost amused. 

“Well, good.” He stared up at him for another minute before remembering his soup. “You can sit, you know. No need to hover.” He took another bite, embarrassed when he slurped just slightly.

Kirk pulled out another chair and sat down, but he didn’t lean back, as if he was just waiting for Leonard to remember himself and show Kirk the door. 

“I actually got a call from Gaila Orion. She thinks I’d be a good children’s book agent.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.” Leonard peered across at Kirk, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Funny. I thought you and she were something of an item.”

“I wouldn’t phrase it that way, exactly,” Kirk replied, eyes darting away. “We dated casually for a while, but we’re really best off as friends so we ended it.”

“Huh. Sorry to hear about that.”

Kirk looked back his way, brows arching.

Leonard shrugged, acknowledging his lack of sincerity. “Still. Lot of people seem to be breaking up recently. Another friend of mine just broke off with the person he’d been seeing. That guy I was meeting the night in the café.”

“Oh, right. The successful businessman,” Kirk said with a nod. 

“Yeah.” Leonard dropped his gaze back to his soup bowl. Suddenly, recalling the things he’d said to Kirk that night, he didn’t feel like eating anymore. He set down his spoon. “About that night. I was...”

“Honest. You were honest, McCoy. It’s okay,” Kirk said quietly.

“It’s not. I was upset and I was mean-spirited.”

“I’ve said my share of cruel things to you.”

Leonard pushed himself up from his chair and grabbed the box of tissues, then headed a bit unsteadily toward the couch. “Yes, but I had no excuse.”

“You had no excuse?” Kirk echoed. Leonard heard the scrape of the other chair as the man rose to follow him. “Oh, I get it. I’m a horrible person, so it’s just natural that I’d say terrible things, is that it?”

Leonard struggled to straighten out the knitted throw that was bunched in one corner of the couch, then dropped down, tugging it over his legs. It was still tangled, however, and he couldn’t seem to shake it out.

“That’s not what I meant,” he grumbled, his ire almost entirely focused on the blanket.

“Here, give me that.” Strong hands tugged the knitted fabric from his grip. In one easy move, Kirk straightened out the throw. A good shake and he’d covered Leonard from mid-chest down to his toes. “And I said it’s okay. After all, I put you out of business. It’s only natural for you to hate me. You have the right.”

Leonard collapsed back against the cushions, every ounce of energy draining from his body. “I don’t hate you,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. When Kirk didn’t respond, he let his head fall to the side. Kirk had sat down on the edge of the trunk, elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them. “I don’t hate you, Jim,” Leonard repeated with a small sigh.

Jim nodded. “I--it wasn’t personal,” he said slowly.

“People always say that. What does it even mean? It just means it wasn’t personal for you. But for me, it was very personal.” 

He watched Kirk’s sober blue eyes shift, taking in the room. Leonard had the sign that used to hang above the store’s entrance propped against the long wall of bookcases, and in front of it was the beanbag chair that Jo-Jo loved, with Doctor Bear sitting on it, keeping it warm for her. Leonard knew the moment Jim’s eyes settled on the bear, saw the recognition in his gaze. He simply nodded again, a tiny tipping of his head. 

Leonard let his own head roll back on the cushion again, eyes drifting shut. One side of his nose was letting air flow freely; it was sheer bliss. 

“I should let you sleep.”

“Sorry. Took some meds before you got here,” Leonard mumbled. 

“It’s fine. You need the rest to get better.”

Kirk’s voice had come from higher up with that last sentence. Leonard opened his eyes and saw him standing over him. “How come you came by? Don’t tell me it was just to bring me soup.”

“I wanted to be your friend,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I know it’s impossible, but, well.” He shrugged instead of finishing the thought. “Can I ask you one thing before I go?”

“What?”

“What happened to that guy? The one from the café?”

Leonard shook his head back and forth against the cushion. “Nothing.”

“But, I mean, you really like the guy, don’t you? I’m not imagining that. You were singing his praises that night.”

Leonard let out a long sigh, eyes drifting closed yet again. “Can’t believe I’m telling you this,” he muttered. “I don’t really know him. He’s just someone I met online.”

“Really?”

Leonard forced his eyes open and was surprised to find that Kirk didn’t appear to be mocking him. “Really.”

“But you do like him.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well then, I think you should meet him. Maybe then he’d be here bringing you soup.”

Leonard frowned. “Hey now, there’s no reason to be a jerk about--”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Kirk cut him off hastily. “I’m just making a friendly suggestion. And now I’m going to leave so you can get some sleep.”

Leonard stared at him, conscious that he was starting to seem a little blurry around the edges. Damn, that cough medicine packed a punch. Or maybe it was the Chinese mustard. “Okay,” he agreed. “Thanks for the soup.” 

“You’re welcome. Feel better soon,” he added softly. “It would be a shame to miss this great spring weather.”

“Thanks,” Leonard said again, eyes drifting shut. He faintly heard the click of the door as Kirk let himself out, and considered getting up to throw the locks. That was the last thought he had before sleep finally took him.

~*~

_From: Books_n_Bones  
To: Cap1701  
Subject: Let’s try this again_

_We haven’t talked about it for a while, and I really don’t need you to tell me what happened last time. But I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, and I think we should meet._

_From: Cap1701  
To: Books_n_Bones  
Subject: RE: Let’s try this again_

_You’re one hundred percent right, Bones. We should meet. And we will. But I’m in the middle of working on something right now that needs a little more fine tuning first._

~*~

Leonard glanced up from his book when someone tapped on the coffee shop window just inches from his nose. Jim Kirk stood out on the street, beaming at him. Leonard huffed out a laugh and waved. Seconds later, Jim was coming inside. He motioned toward one of the small tables, then went to place his order.

Tucking his bookmark in place, Leonard grabbed his coffee and his trash and moved from the counter where he’d been sitting to the table Jim had indicated. A few moments later, Jim joined him with his own large paper cup.

“Hey there, how’s it going?” Jim asked. “You look a lot better.” He peeled the lid off his coffee and blew at the steam that wafted upwards.

“Thanks, I am.” Leonard arched a brow at the unadulterated coffee in Jim’s cup. “No frou-frou drink today?”

“Nah. I drink it straight most of the time. I only do the fancy stuff when I’m having a bad day, need a little pick me up.” He took a quick sip and let out a happy sigh. “Dark and bitter is my preferred blend,” he added with a wink.

Leonard started a bit, but smiled. “Mine, too,” he agreed, tapping his own cup. “And things are good. I’ve been keeping busy.”

Jim grinned. “You meet your guy yet?”

“Uh, no,” Leonard replied, glancing down at his hand where it rested on his paperback. “I did suggest it, though. He agreed, but he’s in the middle of something he needs to finish first.”

“What the hell does he have to finish before you guys can meet for coffee or a drink or something?”

“Don’t know. Said he was fine tuning something.”

“Fine tuning?”

“Those were his words.”

Jim’s face scrunched up. “Fine tuning. I say he’s married. Married with a couple of kids.”

Leonard frowned, already shaking his head before Jim stopped speaking. “He’s not married. I know he’s not.”

“How do you know? Have you ever asked him?”

“Well, no, but, I mean he was dating someone, told me about it.”

Jim tilted his head. “McCoy, come on. If the man’s married and leading you on, what’s to keep him from fooling around with other people, too? Or just outright lying?”

“No. No, just no.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I am.” Leonard picked up his cup and drained the last of his now-cold coffee. But he was still frowning.

~*~

_From: Books_n_Bones  
To: Cap1701  
Subject: Stupid question_

_I realize this is probably a stupid question to ask now, after all this time, but are you married?_

_From: Cap1701  
To: Books_n_Bones  
Subject: RE: Stupid question_

_Bones! Am I married? You’re right, that is a stupid question, and I can’t believe you’re asking me after all this time. It’s like you don’t know me at all._

_Oh, never mind. I see. Some friend of yours has decided I must be married, because we haven’t met yet. Really, Bones, you’re so suggestible._

~*~

It took Jim half the morning wandering around the Upper West Side before he was finally able to “casually” bump into McCoy. Fortunately the timing was perfect to allow him to suggest they grab lunch together. If McCoy was at all surprised by the idea, he hid it well. 

Sitting at a little sidewalk café on Broadway, enjoying the balmy weather, Jim poked at his salad and watched McCoy talk with his hands, nearly taking out a passerby when he made a broad gesture while holding his fork. It was all he could do not to laugh out loud. This lighthearted, chatty man was the one he knew from their e-mails. Gone was the grumpy, insulting bookseller who had gone to war to protect his tiny patch of turf. 

“What?”

Jim blinked. “What what?”

“You were smiling. I didn’t think anything I said was that funny.”

“Sorry. Just enjoying the day, I guess.”

McCoy glanced around. “It is nice, isn’t it? I think winter’s finally over.”

“Could be,” Jim agreed. 

“Anyway, as I was saying, he totally called me on my bullshit. Knew exactly why I was suddenly asking about his marital status.”

“But he still didn’t actually answer your question, did he?”

“Of course he did!”

Jim shook his head. “No. You said he asked why you were asking all of a sudden, and that he figured out why without you telling him, but he didn’t actually say he was single. Did he?”

Leonard sighed, but he was still smiling. “Not in so many words, no.”

“Okay. So say you’re right, he’s not married. Still doesn’t explain the feet dragging. Maybe he’s fat,” Jim suggested.

“So what? I’m not that shallow.”

“You don’t care? You don’t care if the reason he hasn’t met you is because he’s too fat to fit through the front door?”

“Come on,” Leonard chuckled. “That’s pretty damn unlikely. Plus he’s mentioned that he rides a motorcycle, which, last I checked, requires your leaving the building.”

“Has he actually gone out recently? Things change, you know. Could be something he did ten years ago, before he ate himself into a corner, so to speak.”

“You’re reaching.”

Jim smirked but nodded. “So what’s his screen name?”

“Why?”

Jim smothered a laugh at McCoy’s suspicious tone. “I’m not going to contact him, okay? I’m just curious. Maybe there’s a clue there.”

“It’s Cap1701.”

“Cap1701,” Jim mused. “Cap, cap. He sells hats?”

Leonard let out a bark of laughter. “Never thought of that. Or maybe it stands for something? Captain?”

Jim choked on a bite of lettuce and reached for his water glass.

“You okay?” Leonard asked.

Waving him off, Jim took a few sips of water. “Fine,” he managed. “Went down the wrong way.”

“Careful. Don’t relish having to do the heimlich maneuver on you. I’m a bit rusty.”

“Used to do it a lot, did you?” Jim asked, glad for the change of topic.

Leonard shrugged. “Was in medical school for a while before I thought better of it. Taught a first aid class the summer before I started.”

“I see.” He moved his food around his plate a bit more before finally setting his fork down. “What made you change your mind?” 

“My father had cancer. I took time off so I could be with him through the end and just never went back.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been difficult.” 

Leonard gazed off into the street, but Jim could tell he wasn’t really focusing on anything in particular. “It was hard for a lot of reasons, not just because it sucks to see someone you love in pain. That was a huge turning point in my life. Led to my change in career, and I can’t be sorry for that, but that was also when my marriage fell apart. I was mourning my dad, and by the time I finally came up for air, my wife had taken my little girl and moved back to Georgia. She was never really happy in New York,” he said with a shrug. “My checking out on her was just the last straw.”

“That’s terrible. Couldn’t she see you were in pain?”

He turned sad hazel eyes toward Jim, a wry smile gracing his lips. “Guess I just took too long to snap back.”

Jim wanted to argue, but he could tell there was no changing McCoy’s mind on this. Whatever had gone down between him and his ex, he was used to carrying the bulk of the burden on his own shoulders, and Jim wasn’t going to convince him otherwise over lunch. 

“How old is your daughter?” he asked instead.

Leonard’s smile widened. “Almost eight. She’s coming up in a few weeks. We missed our visit at Christmas on account her mama’s remarried and wanted to do the big family shindig down there. Haven’t seen her in almost a year.”

“Wow, you must be excited.” He didn’t actually need to say it. Leonard’s face had transformed at just the idea of seeing his little girl. 

“I am. She must be gettin’ so big now. I know she already thinks she’s grown, corrects me every time I call her my baby girl on the phone.”

Jim chuckled. “You go pure Southern just talking about her.”

McCoy’s eyebrows arched. “What now?”

“Like that,” Jim said, pointing at him with a grin. “Your accent’s getting thicker by the second.” 

“Is not.”

Jim shook his head, refusing to back down, but he refrained from mentioning that McCoy was now blushing as well. The man was finally loosening up in his presence, and he wasn’t about to say or do a thing that might cause him to close back up again. 

The waiter brought their check and they each threw down a few bills to cover their meal. As they made their way out onto the street, Jim found himself reluctant to separate quite yet. He was enjoying talking to McCoy, and he still wanted to plant some more food for thought.

“I was going to head over to the farmer’s market, see if there’s anything good. Want to come?” he asked.

McCoy cocked his head and gave a little nod. “Sure. I could use a few things.”

There wasn’t much available yet--just some young lettuces and an assortment of berries. But in addition to the produce vendors, there were people selling cheese, baked goods, fresh cut flowers, and other odds and ends. Jim watched McCoy eye everything carefully before making his choices, ultimately purchasing a bag of arugula, a small head of red leaf, and a loaf of rye bread with caraway seeds. He spent so much time focused on McCoy’s hands as he picked over the items that he forgot to shop for himself. At the last minute he grabbed a pint of blueberries and some homemade granola. 

“So, how’s your book going?” he asked as they walked.

“Not sure, to tell you the truth,” McCoy admitted. “It’s not like reading someone else’s writing. With my own, I have no idea if it’s good or if I’m just living in some sort of delusional bubble. But there’s an editor I know from the store, she works for a young adult imprint. She said she’ll read it when I’m done, let me know if I’m way off track.”

“I’m sure you’re not. I bet it’s fantastic.”

“Fantastic drivel.” He shrugged. “I’m trying not to think about it, just enjoy the process. I’m a little surprised how much fun I’m having with it.” 

“That’s terrific.”

The corners of McCoy’s mouth hinted at a smile. “You know, something he said actually gave me the idea to write.”

“Your married felon who can’t leave the house because his ankle bracelet will go off?”

“Enough,” McCoy said, whacking Jim with his bag. “I’m serious. He, I guess he gave me the courage to move forward.” 

“Sorry. No, that’s great. Really,” Jim told him.

“We seem to be bumping into each other a lot,” McCoy observed, as they crossed over to the east side of Columbus and started wandering uptown. 

“Small world,” Jim agreed. “You want to bump into each other on purpose next time? Say Saturday, for lunch?”

“Yeah, okay. Where?”

“Hot dogs?” Jim asked, pointing toward Gray’s. “About noon?”

Leonard laughed. “If I hadn’t seen you eat something green today, I’d be tempted to comment on your culinary choices.”

“Yeah, yeah. Are we meeting or not?”

“I’ll see you then.”

~*~

_From: Cap1701  
To: Books_n_Bones  
Subject: Meeting_

_Hey, Bones, how about meeting on Saturday? Around 4pm? There’s this great bar I know off Amsterdam, called Finnegan’s. It’ll be dead that time of day. Meet me in the back room—I’ll reserve us a booth._

_From: Books_n_Bones  
To: Cap1701  
Subject: RE: Meeting_

_I know the place. I’ll be there._

~*~

All through lunch on Saturday, Jim waited for McCoy to mention that he would be meeting Cap1701 that afternoon, but McCoy didn’t bring it up. They ordered their hotdogs and sodas and stood at the counter in the window to eat, chatting about their weeks and politics and the weirdly pleasant temperatures. But it wasn’t until they’d finished their food and McCoy was wiping his mouth that he finally began to look a little shifty. Jim pounced. 

“What? Come on, something’s up. Spill.”

McCoy nodded his head a little and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay,” he admitted. He balled up his napkin and tossed it in the trash, then walked out onto the sidewalk. 

Jim threw out the last of his own garbage and followed. “Okay what?” he pressed.

“I’m meeting him today.”

“Today? Really? When?”

“Later this afternoon. At this place, Finnegan’s, a few blocks from here.”

“Yeah, I know it. So that means he’s probably a Westsider,” Jim pointed out.

“Hey, yeah, you’re right. It’s actually funny he chose Finnegan’s. I go there pretty frequently--I’m friends with the bartender.”

“Huh, imagine that,” Jim mused, silently thankful they’d never bumped into each other there before. 

“Maybe I’ve sat next to him at the bar without knowing.”

“Could be,” Jim agreed. He and Scotty were going to have words, and soon. “He could be anybody.”

“Anybody at all.”

“Maybe him,” Jim said, pointing at a random man crossing the street a few yards ahead of them, carrying a shopping bag. “And he’s been shopping all morning for the perfect tie to wear for your meeting.”

McCoy let out a snort. “Sure.”

“It’s all about timing here, you know? He’s been waiting. Kept you stewing for months until you’re so desperate to meet him, so anxious. He’s pretty much got you convinced he’s the perfect guy for you, that you couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.”

“I, well, yeah, I suppose so,” McCoy agreed. 

“Sometimes I wonder,” Jim said, slowing his pace. They were nearing McCoy’s apartment and he needed to get this out before they arrived.

“What?” McCoy slowed as well, turning and walking sideways, giving Jim his full attention.

“Well,” Jim continued, stopping completely, forcing McCoy to come to a halt. “I wonder if I hadn’t worked for Pike Books, and you hadn’t owned The Shop Around the Corner, and we had just met by chance...”

Leonard’s gaze dropped to the ground and he gave a small nod. “I know,” he said.

“I would have asked for your number,” Jim said. 

Leonard looked back up, meeting Jim’s steady gaze, and it was all Jim could do not to close the distance between them. 

“I would have asked for your number, and I wouldn’t have been able to wait more than a day before I called you,” he admitted. “No playing hard to get, no stupid mind games. I’d have called and said ‘hey, how about drinks or dinner or a movie or, I don’t know, a trip to Bali.”

“A trip to Bali?” McCoy stuttered.

Jim shrugged. “Too much?”

“I...Jim, I’ve got to go,” he said helplessly. 

Jim ignored him. “I just...we wouldn’t have been at war, you know? The only thing we’d ever fight about would be where to get our take-out on a Sunday night, or what film to rent.”

“Do people fight about that stuff?” McCoy asked in a husky whisper.

“Maybe,” Jim said. 

“We wouldn’t.” But then he glanced at his watch, breaking the moment. “I really have to go.”

This time Jim nodded. “Just one more question?”

“Okay.”

“Why is it you’re so willing to forgive this guy for standing you up with no explanation, leaving you sitting in that café that night all on your own, but you can’t forgive me for the tiny little crime of...putting you out of business? I really wish you would.” He barely breathed getting out the last few words, aware that his throat was clogged with tears and he really, really didn’t want to break down standing on the street.

McCoy shook his head. “Jim, please, I have to go.”

“Right. Right,” he sighed, looking at his feet and swallowing hard. “Go. Have a good time.” He felt a warm hand squeeze his shoulder. When he finally looked up again, McCoy had gone.

~*~

It had taken the better part of an hour for Leonard to shake off the emotional maelstrom he’d experienced leaving Jim Kirk standing on the sidewalk. He honestly hadn’t known what to think, or how to handle the situation, but he had a sinking feeling he had really hurt the other man by walking away from him. 

Showering, shaving, dressing--the whole time he kept reminding himself that he hadn’t actually promised to do anything beyond meet his correspondent for a drink. Nothing was set in stone. This had all gone too far for him not to meet the man now. He had to find out who he was face to face. At the very least he had to thank him for all of his support through what had been a very traumatic six months of this life--a time that was rivaled only by the loss of his father and family for the amount of heartache he’d suffered.

The irony was that Jim Kirk has also helped, at least in the last couple of months. Leonard had been surprised to discover how much he liked the man. He had a quick mind and a warm sense of humor and was capable of being endearingly goofy at times. It was disarming. Leonard had also learned a lot about him--his rocky childhood and teen years, and the way Chris Pike had rescued him, dragging him out of a bar fight when he was twenty, convincing him to stop wasting his life and to go to college, introducing him to a different outlook. It was hard not to respect Jim’s loyalty to Pike, now that he understood its roots. 

But he also felt a connection to Cap1701, despite having never met him in person. And Leonard knew he owed it to himself--owed it to all parties involved--to keep his four o’clock appointment and to see what came of it.

Hair tamed, dressed in pressed khakis and a dark red button down, Leonard set out for Finnegan’s a few minutes before four. He had intended to be fashionably late, but he was too nervous to wait around. If he was the first one there, he’d simply order a drink and sit like an adult until the other man arrived.

Finnegan’s was quiet, as Cap1701 had predicted. A few couples were seated at tables in the front room, and a solitary older gentleman occupied the last stool at the bar itself. Scotty was on duty, mixing a drink, and he lifted a hand in greeting when he saw Leonard enter.

“’Afternoon, McCoy. You’ve a booth reserved in the back, last one past the pool table. Go on, laddie, and I’ll bring you your regular, shall I?”

“Thanks, Scotty, that’s fine.” He crossed the room and made his way down the short hall that led to the back. It was usually empty during the day unless someone felt like playing pool, since the sole bar along with its accompanying big-screen TVs tuned to seasonal sports, was out front. Leonard knew people sometimes rented the room for parties and such, but clearly that wasn’t the case today.

He settled in the booth--the rounded sort that let you face each other or sit side by side--and smiled his thanks a few moments later when Scotty appeared, tray in hand. “Here you go, McCoy. One Woodford, upgrade on the house,” he said with a wink as he set the glass down. “And an ice water, and a bit o’ munchies for while you wait,” he finished, setting down a basket of potato chips.

Leonard shook his head. “You spoil me, Mr. Scott.” He peered up at the bartender from beneath his bangs. “I don’t suppose you know the guy I’m meeting today?”

“That I do, lad, but I’m sworn to secrecy I am.” Eyes twinkling with mischief, he tapped his tray against the edge of the table. “He’ll be here soon enough, I’ve no doubt of that. I’ll be back to check on you in a shake.” With that, he turned and left Leonard to his drink.

He took a sip of the bourbon and sighed in appreciation. The he shuffled further into the booth, angling so he couldn’t quite see the door from the front room, but so he could lean back and let his head rest against the wall. His nerves were jumping, making him wonder if drinking on an empty stomach was entirely wise. He snagged the basket of chips and dragged them closer, then tossed one in his mouth. Fried food wasn’t the best choice, but it was better than nothing.

Soft music filtered through the speakers, whatever Scotty had plugged into the juke box out front, so Leonard let his eyes fall shut and his thoughts drift on the light notes. He thought he heard a new voice in the front room, but he couldn’t be entirely sure until heavy footsteps--work boots, maybe?--began to approach across the scarred wooden flooring. He opened his eyes and kept his gaze averted, reaching for his glass and taking another sip of bourbon.

A weight dropped onto the bench and slid in beside him. “Liquid courage?” asked a teasing, familiar voice.

Leonard nearly gave himself whiplash, snapping around to meet Jim Kirk’s twinkling, amused gaze. “Jim? What the hell? Goddamnit, he’s going to be here any minute. Come on, get out of here.” He shoved at the man’s shoulder, surprised when he proved immovable. “I can’t believe you,” he muttered.

Jim’s brows rose. “Hey, take it easy.”

Leonard let out a snort. “My own damn fault for telling you where we were meeting. Fine,” he said. “I’ll move then.” He started sliding through the booth the other way, dodging when Jim made a grab for him. “I figured you at least had the decency to let me do this. Maybe I don’t know you as well as I thought.” Reaching the far side of the booth, he pushed at the seat back and the edge of the table to propel himself to his feet.

“Hey, wait, come on, where are you going?” Jim demanded, scrambling after him. “McCoy! Leonard, stop.”

Shaking his head, Leonard strode toward the exit, feeling his anger rising in waves. “You’re a real shit, you know that?”

“Leonard, damn it, stop! Bones!”

Leonard froze. Seconds later Jim’s hands closed on his shoulders and spun him around. He stared into those familiar blue eyes, the nickname ringing in his ears. “What did you call me?” he murmured.

Jim’s grip loosened and he dropped his hands, stroking gently over Leonard’s upper arms even as he pulled away. “Bones,” he whispered. He cocked his head, lips curved in a sheepish smile, but Leonard could see the fear beneath it all. “Hey.” 

“It was you?”

“Guilty as charged,” Jim admitted. 

A million questions rose up in Leonard’s mind, but they were no match for the tidal wave of emotion sweeping through his entire body. His eyes dropped to Jim’s full, pouty lips, his arms and shoulders tingled where Jim’s hands had touched him so briefly. He looked up again, meeting that blue, blue gaze, and suddenly they were crashing together, lips meeting in a heated kiss that was immediately intimate. Tongues tangled and teeth knocked as they wrapped their arms around each other in an attempt to climb inside each other’s skin. Leonard didn’t even realize that Jim was walking him backwards until he crashed into the side of the pool table and nearly toppled over. They broke apart laughing, gasping for air, only to come back together, their kisses slower and more gentle, loving, apologetic. 

“Are you all right?” Jim asked in a low voice, hands soothing over Leonard’s back, down over his hips and ass. “Nothing bruised?”

He chuckled, leaning his forehead against Jim’s, torn between pressing his hips back into the searching touch or forward into the hardness that matched his own. “Idiot,” he said fondly. “I’ll survive. But I think we should take this somewhere else. Scotty said he was going to be back.”

“Not if he knows what’s good for him, he won’t be,” Jim mumbled, nibbling his way across Leonard’s jaw, up toward his ear. He gave the lobe a gentle nip. “But I agree this isn’t the best venue for this sort of thing.” He pulled back and looked into Leonard’s eyes, his own gaze hooded and filled with desire. “My place is closest. You up for it?”

Grabbing Jim by the ass, Leonard tugged him closer, the resulting friction making them both groan. 

“Never mind,” Jim said. “Stupid question. Let’s go.” He took Leonard’s hand and twined their fingers together, then with a smile as bright as a summer’s day, he pulled him toward the exit. 

Leonard went willingly for a few steps before he dug in his heels. “Wait, Jim, hold on a second.”

Jim turned, concern rapidly replacing his delighted expression. “What is it? What’s wrong?” He used his hold on Leonard to reel himself back so they were standing just inches apart. 

“I--what do you expect from this? I mean, if it’s just sex, I get it, and I want that too, can’t say I don’t, but...” He let out a sigh. “At the end of the day, I’m just an out of work bookseller who’s going to be scraping for his rent money in a couple of months. You realize that, right?”

Jim frowned. “What the hell does that have to do with anything? You’re writing your novel. Or you’ll do something else--it’ll be fine. Bones, you’re smart and snarky and you love books as much as I do. You’ve got a huge heart and awesome dimples, and when I’m with you I feel like I can do absolutely anything. You’re everything I never knew I wanted in a man,” he murmured, giving his hand a squeeze, “and there’s no way in hell I’m letting go of you. You’re stuck with me, okay?”

Leonard smiled, felt his cheeks actually ache with it. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Jim’s in a fast but heart-felt kiss. “Okay. So are we getting out of here, or what?”

Jim laughed and went back to pulling him toward the door.

~*~

Continued in the Epilogue


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author ties up some loose ends.

~*~

The soft ring of the telephone out in the living room barely permeated Jim’s comfortable sleep. They had the ringer on the lowest setting--not silenced, since the time they forgot to turn it back on and the doorman refused to let the pizza guy upstairs without permission--just loud enough to hear around the apartment but faint enough to sleep through unless someone was incredibly persistent. 

However, Jim would never sleep through the sound of Winona’s voice streaming through his answering machine.

_“Jimmy, this is fair warning! I’m at LaGuardia, I’ve got my bags, and when I hang up this phone I’m going to step outside and get into a cab. I figure you’ve got forty-five minutes from then, at best, before I’m knocking at your door. See you soon, baby!”_

“Crap.” He burrowed into his pillow and let out a quiet groan. Then he set about extricating himself from the complicated tangle of blankets and heavy limbs--the latter belonging to Bones, who had a habit of sleeping draped over him, an arm curled around his waist and a leg over one of Jim’s, as if he was afraid Jim might make a run for it in the middle of the night. Given that, with the exception of that initial marathon weekend of sex--which lasted over forty-eight hours and involved Jim calling out sick for the first time ever, prompting a return call from a disbelieving Spock at quite an inconvenient moment--it had taken three months for Jim to get Bones to stay the night, he found the man’s clinginess ironic. 

He rolled carefully onto his back and pressed a kiss to the bare tan shoulder closest to him, smiling when the furrow in Bones’s brow smoothed slightly and he made a contented rumbling sound. The man really was just a giant teddy bear. Jim slipped his leg free, then angled his body toward the floor and in a practiced move lifted Leonard’s arm so he could sneak out from under it. Then he tucked his pillow in where his body had been and dropped another kiss on top of his lover’s head, content in the knowledge that he’d get to sleep for at least fifteen more minutes while Jim showered and dressed.

When he emerged in a cloud of steam a short while later, wearing clean jeans and rubbing at his damp hair with a towel, Bones had shifted entirely onto his side of the bed and had both arms around Jim’s pillow. Jim snickered. 

“Hey there, lazy Bones. Time to wake up.”

A quiet grunt, half muffled against the bedding, was the only reply. 

Jim tossed his towel into the bathroom and went to sit on the edge of the bed. He ruffled Bones’s hair, petting at the cowlicks. “Come on. Rise and shine.”

One hazel eye opened and peered up at him. “I take it that I wasn’t actually dreaming when I heard your mother’s voice announcing she was on her way from the airport?”

“’Fraid not. She’ll be here in less than half an hour. You can take off before she gets here, or hole up in here if you don’t want to deal with her, but I figured you’d want the option. I know it’s kind of an ambush.”

“Nah, s’fine.” He rolled onto his back and blinked sleepily up at Jim. “Thought she was going to a hotel, though.”

“You and me both. Something must have happened. Didn’t sound like she has Steve with her.”

“Stephan.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Whatever. If you’d lived through all of her husbands, you wouldn’t be able to keep them straight either. Anyway, I’m going to run down to the corner for bagels and be back in ten minutes.”

Leonard nodded. “’kay. I’ll grab a shower, try to make myself presentable.”

Jim leaned over and kissed him, nipping lightly at his bottom lip. “Would be easier if you’d just move in, you know.”

“I’ve got plenty of clean clothes here.”

“Not the point.” Jim kissed him again. “Okay. I’m going.”

Leonard arched one brow. “Like that?”

Jim shook his head and stood up. “Smart ass.” He grabbed the shirt he’d taken out of the dresser and tugged it over his head, and if he took a little longer pulling it down over his torso than he would have if he was alone, well, it was worth the sight of the smirk on Bones’s face when Jim emerged and grinned at him. He shoved his feet into an old pair of sneakers, scooped up his keys and wallet, and was out the door. 

~*~

Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Leonard dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. He would never be a morning person, but he found himself far more able to face the day lately, and he’d be fooling himself if he claimed that was due to anything other than Jim Kirk’s presence in his life. But that didn’t mean he was quite ready to take the plunge and move in with the man.

Jim had first broached the subject several weeks before. It was like he was waging a war in stages, moving on to the next campaign as soon as he’d conquered the desired territory with the last. Leonard had resisted spending the night with Jim at first because it felt too soon. They fell into bed so fast after he finally learned who Jim really was--and it had been fantastic--but it also felt like they were jumping into a full-on committed relationship before they’d even dated. And damned if that didn’t make him sound like some eighteenth century damsel demanding courtship, but he didn’t want to screw things up by making assumptions. Some things were worth takin’ slow, doin’ right. And while Jim had pouted and done his best to convince Leonard to stay in bed just a little longer each time, he had been good natured about Leonard’s insistence on leaving and about going home himself when they were at Leonard’s place. 

Likewise, he’d been willing to back off when Joanna came to visit, to take things at Leonard’s pace and not insist on spending every day with them. It had been so long since Leonard had seen Jo-Jo, and much as he’d wanted to share every minute of that time with Jim, he’d also wanted to be selfish about his time with his daughter. It helped that when he did introduce them, they got on like a couple of peas in a pod. But it had also been early days in their relationship, so they were still used to seeing each other only a couple of days a week and saying goodbye at the end of the night.

Far more difficult had been just last month, when Jim’s sister-in-law gave birth to baby Thomas and Jim had Peter come to stay for a few days. By that point, Leonard was at Jim’s five nights out of seven, so when he insisted it was only right he head back to his own apartment for the duration, it had nearly sparked their first serious fight as a couple. Leonard insisted that Peter was too young to be dealing with confusing topics like his uncle sleeping with men, while Jim insisted that Peter was too young to think about it much one way or another. Sam had finally put a stop to the discussion by making it perfectly clear that he assumed Leonard would be there and that he had no concerns whatsoever about the pair of them watching his son. 

Maybe it was the extended domesticity of the two of them living there with Peter underfoot, taking him places together, but as soon as Peter went home to his parents, Jim asked Leonard to move in for good. And while Leonard hadn’t refused, he hadn’t exactly said yes, either. Officially, he was still thinking about the offer. But he wasn’t surprised that Jim continued to nudge and coax and encourage at every opportunity. It was actually endearing when it wasn’t driving him crazy. 

Showered and dressed, Leonard was just starting the coffee when the door opened and Jim came in carrying a bag of bagels and fixings as well as the Sunday papers. He dropped the latter on the coffee table and continued into the kitchen with the food.

“Was beginning to think you got lost,” Leonard mumbled against Jim’s lips as they traded a quick kiss.

“Mmm, toothpaste,” Jim replied, leaning back in, twining his tongue with Leonard’s. “And would I abandon you here with my mother on the way?” he asked, when he finally pulled back.

“Hmm. Maybe. If you thought you could get away with it,” he said, turning to pull down the coffee mugs.

“I couldn’t,” Jim assured him. “If you didn’t take me out, she would. Actually, she’d probably get to me first. You still have a use for me,” he said with a grin, smacking Leonard on the ass. 

“Infant.”

“Heh. You love me.” Jim pressed another noisy kiss to his cheek and turned to put the orange juice in the refrigerator. Then the phone rang, the double ring indicating it was the front desk calling, and he headed off to answer.

~*~

Jim stood waiting at the end of the hall, arms crossed, when the elevator door opened revealing his mother and a pile of luggage. He sighed and shook his head. “Something you want to tell me, Ma?”

Winona hefted a smallish bag in each hand and shoved them out of the elevator, one foot propped neatly against the door to keep it from sliding shut. “No one likes a smart mouth, Jimmy. Come give me a hand.”

He stepped forward and pulled the first bags out of the way, then grabbed the two that remained--both considerably larger than the first ones--and started down the hall. “You realize that Sam’s place is hell-and-gone downtown from here, right? I thought the whole reason you were coming to visit was to see the baby and spend time with Petey.”

Winona followed behind with the smaller bags, her long strides easily matching Jim’s own. “Of course, and I will, but is it a crime to want to spend time with you, too?”

“At ten on a Sunday morning? Quite possibly,” Jim grumbled. He bumped the door to the apartment open with his hip and held it while his mother continued inside. Then he dropped the bags where he stood and shut the door. 

Winona had stopped as well, though she still held her purse and carry on. “This is lovely, Jimmy. So much natural light.” 

“Thanks. Bones! Where are you?” he called, though he was fairly certain Leonard was scouring their bedroom for any evidence of how they’d spent the previous night, as if his mother wasn’t perfectly well aware of her son’s sexual proclivities. So it came as something of a surprise when he appeared in the kitchen doorway. 

“Hey, sorry, I was just shoving some of those bagels in the toaster,” he explained, stepping out into the living room. 

“Mom, this is Leonard McCoy. Bones, my mother, Winona Kirk.” 

Leonard’s brows arched slightly as he came forward to shake Winona’s hand, and it occurred to Jim he had never really told his lover about his mother’s insistence on keeping her first husband’s name. “Ma’am, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, please call me Winona, Leonard? Len?”

“Leonard, please, Winona. Only Jim seems incapable of using it.”

Winona laughed. “Yes, well, Jimmy has a habit of naming things he plans to keep. Although in my experience, it was mostly toads and snails and puppies and the like.”

Jim groaned. “Ma, cut it out. Let’s get your bags into the guest room and then we can have breakfast. How long are you staying, anyway?”

“Jim!” Leonard snapped.

“What? She was supposed to stay in a hotel, not camp out here. It’s a logical question.”

“It’s fine, Leonard. Jim’s right.” She turned to Jim and patted his cheek. “I’m only going to stay a couple of days, baby, and then I’ll move downtown to the hotel. Think you can stand me around for that long?”

Jim took in his mother’s tired blue eyes, the small lines at the corners more defined than the last time he had seen her nearly three years before. “Of course, Ma,” he said quietly. He took her bags and headed for the guest room. 

~*~

Leonard thought breakfast went pretty well, considering the number of elephants in the room--Jim’s open hostility to his mother, Winona’s sudden appearance, the absence of her husband or any explanation regarding his whereabouts. They’d exhausted the topic of Sam and his growing family, then moved on to business, which included Pike Books and how Jim and he had met--since Jim’s lack of regular communication with his mother meant that, while she knew he was now in a relationship, she had never heard the particulars--and branched out to Leonard’s progress on his book. 

Winona was warm and gracious, with the same razor-sharp intellect as her son but fewer of the insecurities that Leonard knew often led Jim to show off his smarts. She asked thoughtful questions about his writing and about Joanna, and she seemed genuinely interested in his answers. Jim, for his part, seemed happy to leave the conversation to the two of them, only interjecting occasionally, generally in praise of Leonard. Eventually he excused himself to clean up the breakfast dishes, and then disappeared down the hallway to put fresh linens in the guest room and its adjoining bath. 

“Sorry about that,” Leonard murmured when Jim was well out of earshot. “Not sure what’s up with him today.”

Winona smiled at his apology. “I wasn’t a particularly good mother to my boys, Leonard. I’m well aware that whatever difficulties there are in my relationship with Jim, I created myself. There’s no need for you to excuse his behavior. We have a tentative truce at best.”

“Uh, well, he’s told me a little bit about what it was like for him growing up,” he admitted. “But I’m sure you did as well as you could under the circumstances. Can’t have been easy, losing your husband so young.”

Winona tilted her head and studied Leonard for a long moment, her blue eyes less bright but just as assessing as Jim’s. “It wasn’t,” she agreed finally. “I think what was hardest was being unable to truly let go. I tried. For all our sakes, I tried to move on. I’m sure you’ve heard about the parade of husbands,” she said, in such a way that made it clear she was probably quoting Jim. “Sam was old enough to remember George, of course, but Jim was only two days old when he died--I just wanted him to have some sort of father figure. The irony was that none of the men I married could ever fill George Kirk’s shoes,” she added, her smile rueful. 

Leonard glanced at the hallway that led to the bedrooms and wondered if Jim was hiding out, or maybe lurking just around the corner, eavesdropping. “You know, since my divorce I’ve thought a lot about my responsibilities to Joanna,” he admitted. “As a father. Part of me considered moving back to Georgia after I closed the store. It made sense to go home, be a part of her life. But the truth is, it would have killed me to leave New York.” 

He turned back to find Winona watching him intently. “I’m still a Georgia boy deep down, but I’m not the same man who left home for the big city. And me in Georgia miserable?” He shrugged. “That wouldn’t have done Jo a lick of good. Yes, you’ve got to take care of your kids and put their needs first, but if they’re warm and fed and loved? Well, you’ve done your job and you’ve got needs too.”

“I think you’re a very smart man, Leonard McCoy. I can see why my son loves you so much.”

Leonard felt his face grow warm. “Well now, not entirely sure about that, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Winona laughed softly. “Oh believe it, Leonard. I know that look he’s sporting.”

Intent on shifting the focus off his own relationship, Leonard just gave a little nod and glanced away. “If you don’t mind my asking, what kept your husband from joining you on this trip?”

“I don’t mind,” she replied, her tone suggesting she recognized his diversionary tactics. “Stephan and I have decided our marriage isn’t working. Well, he’s decided, and I can’t say I blame him. He’s a good man and he deserves better.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Ah, don’t be. I have no idea what I was thinking, marrying him,” she admitted. “The truth is, since George, there was really only one man I ever really believed I could make a life with, and I’ve always known his interest in me was nothing beyond friendly. Besides which, he’s been good to my boys, particularly Jim, and I would never do anything to jeopardize their relationship.”

Leonard felt his eyebrows climbing through his hairline. “Are you by any chance talking about Chris Pike?” He knew all about Pike’s long-held affection for Winona Kirk--remembered Jim’s email about the situation from before they had met each other, and had heard several long, confused diatribes on the subject in the months since.

Winona appeared somewhat surprised, as if her reference to the man’s closeness to Jim hadn’t been a dead giveaway. “Why yes, actually. I suppose it makes sense that you’d know him as well.”

Leonard was vacillating between telling Winona that Pike really was interested in her, and keeping his mouth shut, when Jim came breezing back into the room and clapped his hands. “Okay, all done,” he declared with a bit too much energy, meeting Leonard’s questioning look with his own piercing blue gaze. Ah, Leonard thought. Keep his mouth shut, then. 

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Leonard asked.

“Not sure,” Jim said, turning to his mother. “Did you have plans this afternoon, Ma? Did you want to rest up a bit or should we give Sam a call and head down there?”

“I would like to freshen up a bit,” she admitted. “But then I’d like to do something with the two of you, if you don’t have anything else going on. After all, I’m going to spend most of the week with Sam and Aurelan and the kids. Maybe I can get a tour of that new store of yours?”

“Sure,” Jim agreed easily. “We can do that.” 

Winona smiled at his willingness, and Leonard felt a little pang, wondering how difficult it was for the woman all these years, to see so little of her children. “Thank you, baby. Okay, I’ll just be a minute.”

After she’d disappeared into the bedroom, Jim dropped back down in his chair, elbows on the table, head propped in his hands.

“So exactly how much of that did you hear?” Leonard asked quietly.

“Enough,” Jim sighed. “Shit. Now what? Do I tell Chris?”

“You could just tell your mother.”

“Not an option.”

“Come on, Jim, she’s obviously been holding a torch for the guy for almost as long as he’s had feelings for her.”

“Maybe, or maybe it’s just revisionist history, now she’s here in town and about to be between husbands again.”

“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

Jim sighed again and sat back, hands dropping to his lap. “I don’t know. Maybe it is. I just--hell, Bones, I can’t help but feel more loyal to Chris at this point. Does that make me a terrible person? She’s my mother, for crying out loud.” 

“Of course it doesn’t make you a terrible person. You and your mom have a lot of history of your own, and you can’t just ignore it. But it seems to me that part of the reason she’s holding back on telling Pike how she feels is concern for you, and the role Pike’s played in your life,” he said.

“Seems to me you already told her that she should live her own life,” Jim pointed out.

“Fair enough.”

“Did you really consider leaving New York?”

Leonard nodded. “For a while. But it was right after I shut the store, and I knew I wasn’t in a good place to make that sort of decision. Besides,” he added with a smirk, “I had too much unfinished business here.”

Jim smiled briefly. “I’m glad you stayed.”

“Me, too.”

And so they still hadn’t settled on a course of action before Winona reappeared, her ash-blond hair pulled off her face with a clip and her lips freshly glossed. “I’m ready if you are, gentlemen,” she announced. 

Jim pushed to his feet. “Then let’s go.”

~*~

They spent about an hour wandering around the neighborhood before heading to Pike Books, and Jim was amused at the way Leonard had dubbed himself tour guide, pointing out to Winona the various places they frequented, from the bagel place where Jim had picked up their breakfast to the Starbucks they had independently haunted prior to meeting and the infamous Café Lalo, where Jim had “stood Leonard up” all those months ago. By silent but mutual agreement, they avoided the block where Shop Around the Corner used to be. Leonard might not blame Jim for the store’s closing, but he still got a little too quiet when presented with an up-close reminder that the little shop was gone for good. Whether it didn’t occur to Winona or she simply understood, she made no request to see that particular landmark.

Pike Books was crowded, as it typically was on a Sunday. Jim and Leonard both nodded to the sales people as they toured the store. Winona took in all the details, from the lighting fixtures to the polished bookcases and the carefully designed displays, asking the occasional question but mostly just admiring the overall effect. Eventually she was drawn to the books themselves, and Jim couldn’t help but chuckle when the volumes she pulled from the shelves began piling up on her arm instead of being slipped back into place. He went and grabbed one of the shopping baskets they provided for customers. 

“Here, Ma, give me those,” he said, gently prying the stack of books from her grasp. 

“What? Oh, thanks Jimmy, that’s very helpful,” she said, once she realized what he was doing.

Jim set the books in the basket and then placed it next to her on the floor. “There you go.” 

Leaving her to her shopping, he went in search of Leonard, knowing he wouldn’t have to go far. Sure enough, he was lurking in the children’s department, checking out the new titles. Jim laughed when he realized that, like his mother, his lover had a couple of books already stacked on one arm. 

“Find something you like?” he murmured, sneaking up behind him.

Leonard jumped a foot and spun around. “Menace,” he whispered. “And yeah, check this out.” He held out his top-most selection.

Jim stared at the colorful book cover featuring a boy on a broomstick. “Hmm, yeah, I heard about that one. Apparently it’s made a big splash in the UK. US rights sold at auction.” 

“Right. Figured I’d check it out, see if it’s something Jo-Jo might enjoy.”

Jim smirked. “Sure you aren’t checking out the competition?”

“Nah, this is more middle grade than what I’m working on,” he said, going back to his browsing.

“You are going to let me read it one of these days, right?” Jim prodded.

“Eventually,” came the amused retort. “What’s your mom up to?”

“Same as you, though we may need to ship her haul back to Iowa for her at the rate she’s going.”

“You figured out what you want to do about the other thing yet?”

Jim leaned absently against Leonard’s side, smiling when he wrapped his free arm around Jim’s shoulders and gave him a quick hug. “I’m thinking maybe I won’t say anything to either of them.”

Leonard turned, brows arched. “Really? You’re not going to do anything?”

“Didn’t say that, did I?” Jim said with a smirk. “I thought maybe Chris would like to join us for dinner tonight.”

“When was the last time they saw each other?”

Jim shrugged. “My college graduation, as far as I know. Unless they’ve met up since and didn’t tell me.”

“Long time,” Leonard agreed. “I think dinner is an excellent idea.”

~*~

They returned to the apartment a couple of hours later with four Pike’s shopping bags, three of which held Winona’s purchases, though she had bought as many books for Peter and baby Thomas as she had for herself. 

“That was wonderful, but I think if you two expect me to stay awake through dinner I should probably try to take a little cat nap now,” she admitted. “I was up extremely early to catch my flight this morning.”

“Sure thing, Ma. You go ahead and relax. I’ve got some paperwork I should do, and I suspect Bones is itching to do some writing. Visiting the store always seems to have that effect.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leonard said, smiling at Jim’s good natured teasing. “He’s right. Have a good nap, Winona. No staying up reading all those books you bought.”

Winona laughed. “No danger of that now. Maybe tonight.”

Jim waited for her to head inside, then went to call Pike. Leonard grabbed his laptop bag from where he’d left it in the bedroom and brought his computer and notes out to the dining table. When Jim emerged a few minutes later, he let out a quiet sigh but didn’t comment. He had been trying to convince Leonard to simply set up his things in the office on Jim’s desk, which was just an enormous table and therefore suitable to be used as an old fashioned partners’ desk, with two people working across from each other. But Leonard continued to demure, borrowing Jim’s computer when he wanted to check his email or do any online searches, but otherwise carting his own laptop back and forth from his apartment, and putting it away whenever he wasn’t using it. 

“We all set?” Leonard asked, knowing it was pointless to try explaining his motivations.

“Yeah. He’s going to meet us.”

“Did you actually tell him that your mom would be there?”

“I might have neglected to mention it,” Jim admitted, coming to stand next to him, one hand resting on the back of his chair, just brushing against his shoulder.

Leonard let out a snort. “And I’m guessing you won’t bother to tell Winona that you called Chris, either.”

“I won’t lie to her face, if that’s what you’re implying. If she asks, I’ll be happy to tell her.”

Leonard shook his head, eyes focused on his computer screen. He tapped the arrow key, scrolling back a page as something occurred to him. “Hmm. So where are we eating?”

“B. Smith’s.”

That got his attention. The restaurant was a particular favorite of his, an upscale place in the theater district, sophisticated but not over priced, with a Southern-themed menu and live music a few nights a week. It would be quieter than usual, given it was Sunday, but Leonard hardly cared, since it was the fried catfish that was the main draw as far as he was concerned. “What made you choose that?” he asked, looking up.

Jim leaned in and cupped Leonard’s face with both hands before dropping a gentle kiss on his mouth. Then he pulled back slightly and rested his forehead against Leonard’s. “I chose it because you love it,” he murmured. “And because it makes me happy to make you happy.” He kissed him again, this time on the tip of his nose, and released him. “Write. Our reservations aren’t until eight. I’m going to go get some work done.”

Leonard watched him retreat to his office, aware that he was quite suddenly, painfully hard in his jeans, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

~*~

Jim had requested a corner table, knowing it would afford them the most privacy, along with a nice opportunity to people watch for his mother should she decide to sit in stony silence and refuse to talk to any of them. He wasn’t worried about Chris’s reaction, but the truth was that he had less of a fix on how his mother might behave once she realized what they had done.

As it happened, Chris arrived at the restaurant just a few moments after they did, when they were about to be escorted to the table, and so Jim missed his mother’s expression upon seeing him, though he did note that Chris’s eyes widened slightly in surprise and--Jim was fairly certain--delight. Winona and Chris followed the hostess, and Jim hung back, letting Bones walk ahead of him, and by the time they were all seated, Winona and Chris were in the middle of a conversation. Neither mentioned that they’d been unaware that the other would be at dinner. 

Slowly, Jim began to unwind, aided no doubt by the cocktails they all ordered while they perused the menu. It also helped to have Bones sitting next to him, giving his hand a surreptitious squeeze from time to time beneath the table. 

“Did you discover this place, Leonard?” Winona asked, once they had ordered their meals. 

“Uh, no, actually Jim brought me here,” he said. “I was complaining about not being able to find any collard greens at the market, and this was his solution.”

Pike laughed. “He was probably worried you’d go dashing back to Georgia in search of a fix.”

Jim tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I’ll admit my motives weren’t entirely altruistic.”

“Jim’s always been something of a problem solver,” Winona said. “He liked to fix things as a child. I would come home from work almost every week to find he’d dismantled something new. The toaster, the radio, the dishwasher. But he always managed to put them back together again.”

“Ah, but did they work?” Pike asked.

“Hey!” Jim protested. 

“I’ll wager they worked better than they had before he took ‘em apart,” Leonard said.

Winona nodded. “You’d win that bet.” 

The waiter arrived with their wine, and Jim went through the ritual of tasting and approving before everyone got their glass. Sipping the deep red merlot, he glanced at his mother across the table and found her watching him. He felt himself squirm slightly in his seat, an automatic reaction that made him feel eight years old again. She smiled gently, as if knowing precisely how he was feeling, and Jim was forced to set down his glass and swallow hard.

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” he said, pushing back from the table. He brushed Bones’s hand with his own when his lover reached out, but he gained his feet and headed toward the restrooms. 

Once alone, he went over to the sink and rested his hands against the edge of the cool porcelain, supporting himself as he stared into the mirror. He knew he looked like his father, had seen the photographs, had heard it from family members when he was growing up. He knew what his mother saw when she looked in his face, in his eyes, and sometimes he wondered if that had been the true root of their problems. But despite everything, he wanted his mother to be happy, to live her life. He just wasn’t sure he trusted her to do so without leaving more carnage in her wake. 

He splashed some cold water on his face and patted it dry with a handful of paper towels. Then he took a deep breath and exited the men’s room. He half expected to find someone waiting for him outside the door--his mother, Pike, even Bones--but the small vestibule was empty. 

Back at the table, their meals had arrived. Jim took his seat, thankful to having something more to focus on. Leonard leaned toward him, and he could feel his breath hot against his cheek as he spoke. “You okay?”

Jim smiled and nodded slightly. “Yeah, fine,” he murmured. “How’s your catfish?”

Leonard shot him a knowing look. “Delicious, as always. Did I thank you for deciding we should eat here tonight?”

“Not in so many words, no.”

“Ah, well, wasn’t really words I had in mind,” he replied, voice husky and carefully pitched not to travel. “Remind me to do something ‘bout that later, darlin’.”

“Oh god,” Jim muttered, reaching for his wine and taking a healthy swallow. On his other side, Chris noticed his actions.

“Something wrong there, Jim?” he asked, looking amused.

“Not at all,” he managed, wondering when exactly his friends and family had conspired to drive him insane. 

“So,” Chris continued, “I was telling Winona and Leonard about this little jazz club that’s opened up a few blocks from here. Fabulous music, nice wine list. Just a mellow little hole in the wall, really, but it’s gotten great reviews. I thought maybe we could give it a try after dinner, if you’re all interested?”

Meeting Chris’s inquiring gaze, Jim knew there was an underlying question to his request. Bones’s hand on his knee only confirmed it for him. “That sounds great, Chris,” he began, “but Bones and I had been talking about an early night. I’ve got a meeting in the morning regarding the new distribution center.” Bracing himself, he turned to look at his mother. “But Mom, you should check it out. There’s no reason for you to turn in early.”

Winona looked startled for a moment, as if she was only just picking up on the subtext in the conversation. Realization brightened her eyes and she blinked several times before she spoke. “I’d like to, very much,” she admitted. “But only if you’re sure you don’t mind, Jim.”

Exhaling slowly, Jim shook his head. “I don’t mind, Ma. Go. Have fun. You deserve it,” he said quietly.

“Thank you, baby.”

An awkward silence followed, which Leonard finally broke rather abruptly. “Okay, now that that’s all settled, eat your dinner, people, so we can get to dessert. They have a bread pudding here that you would not believe.”

~*~

Leonard smiled in satisfaction at the sight of a naked Jim Kirk, lying spread eagle across the bed and breathing hard in the aftermath of orgasm. His chest was flushed, his hair going every which way, and his eyes closed, shuttering that bright blue gaze. He had never looked more beautiful. 

“Oh my god, Bones,” he panted. “I think you just sucked my brains out through my dick.”

Snorting, Leonard crawled up the bed beside him, stretching out on his side. He reached out and brushed Jim’s sweaty bangs back off his forehead, then leaned in and kissed the warm skin he’d revealed. Jim hummed lightly in contentment, and Leonard felt his own smile broaden. 

“You were a very good boy,” he murmured. “And good boys deserve rewards.”

“I’m taking you for bread pudding more often.”

“Hah. Not just the food, darlin’. That was a nice thing you did tonight, for Pike and your mom.”

Jim groaned and opened his eyes. “Please don’t tell me you just gave me an awesome blowjob because I set my mom up with my boss.”

“Okay, well, I guess when you put it like that it sounds a little creepy,” he admitted. “I just meant that I know it was hard for you, but you did it anyway. I’m proud of you.”

“I guess I can live with that.” Jim rolled toward Leonard, propping his head up on his hand as he glanced down. “Hmm, was going to offer to return the favor but it seems I don’t need to.”

“Yeah, well, might have gotten a little carried away,” Leonard said. He shuffled closer to Jim and pulled him so they were flush against each other, legs tangling together. “Rain check?”

“Any time you want.”

They lay there for a while, kissing and stroking each other. Leonard was aware that Winona would probably be back before long. 

“You gave your mom a key, right?”

Jim chuckled. “Yes, and her name is on the list at the door, so they know to just let her right up.”

“Hmm, good,” Leonard said, nuzzling a little closer. “So, I’ve been thinking?”

“About?”

“If I move in with you, how is it going to work?”

Jim froze in his arms, arching his head back just enough to look him in the eye. “How do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

Leonard shrugged. “If we were both renting, I’d say we should look for a new place that would be just ours. But you own this place, plus I have to admit I kind of like it. Stupid for you to sell it. But I need to pull my own weight, Jim.”

Jim let out a shaky breath. “God, Bones, I was pretty sure you’d decided against it entirely. We can work it out any way you want.”

Leonard frowned. “What do you mean? I told you I was thinking about it.”

“I know you did.” He pulled away and rolled onto his back, lifting both hands to run through his hair. “I just figured you were going to say no.”

“Would you rather I say no?”

“No! I mean, of course not, I want you to move in here,” Jim said, looking vaguely horrified.

“Okay, so, I’m not sure I understand then. What’s the problem?”

Jim shook his head. “There isn’t one. Really.” He managed a weak smile. “God, I was so scared you wouldn’t stay,” he whispered. “That I’d lose you.”

“Hey, come here,” Leonard said, reaching out and dragging Jim back into his arms, concerned when he curled into him, tucking his head under Leonard’s chin. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sorry. I’m being an idiot.”

“I don’t think so. I think there’s something else goin’ on here and I need you to talk to me. Is this back to your mom and all her marriages? You think nothing ever lasts, is that it?”

Jim shrugged in his arms. “I don’t know. It wasn’t even really conscious. It’s just I’ve never done this. Never wanted to do this before now, not really. But I look at my mother and how she mourned my dad all these years, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if he hadn’t died. Would they still be together? Or was it just easy to love him because he was gone?”

“I can’t speak to that, but it seems to me that they were married for a good while before he died. Isn’t your brother six years older than you?”

Jim nodded.

“Okay, then. So, they were together going on seven years. That’s a good long marriage. Longer than mine.”

“Longer than any of Winona’s other marriages, too,” Jim admitted.

“But either way, Jim, that’s her. Her life, her relationships. You can’t hold up another person’s life and assume yours will go the same way. It would make more sense to me if you were worrying about my track record. After all, I’m the one with a failed marriage.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It takes two people to make or break any relationship. Jocelyn and I both had our share in the blame. But I like to think I learned a thing or two.”

Jim pulled away again and shoved up to lean against the headboard, but he kept one of Leonard’s hands caught in his. “I know you said you were thinking about it, but I guess I didn’t see what there was to think about,” he admitted. “Either you want to be with me or you don’t.”

“I just didn’t want to rush into anything and screw it up. Wanted to make sure we were both really ready. Have you ever even lived with someone?”

“Not romantically, no. But we’re practically living together now, aren’t we? Would it be that different if you didn’t have your apartment out there like a safety net?”

“Now, probably not. Which is why I think we’re ready now. But when you first asked me?”

“Okay,” Jim agreed. “Maybe I jumped the gun a little bit. But it’s like you fight me every step of the way for everything,” he sighed. 

Leonard frowned. “Do I really?”

“A little bit. Most of it isn’t important, but it adds up, you know? Like coming and going with your toothbrush until I got fed up and just bought you one to leave here. Refusing to write in my office even though you know you’d be less distracted.”

“I guess I have kind of been resistant, haven’t I?”

Jim chuckled, sinking back down so they were lying even on the bed. “Just a little.”

“I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“Keep calling me darlin’ like that,” Jim told him, “and I’ll forgive you.”

“Still want me to move in?”

“More than ever.” Jim brushed a kiss across his lips, settling in close. “We can go see a lawyer, if you want. Get some papers drawn up. Or just open a joint account, pay bills out of that. However you feel comfortable. I don’t care, Bones. I just want to be with you.”

“Okay. You really have that meeting in the morning?”

“Yeah. ‘Fraid so.”

“Then let’s get some sleep. We can talk about it some more after your mom’s gone.” Leonard reached down and pulled the lightweight duvet up and over them, while Jim reached for the light. 

In the darkness, they both shifted and turned until they were spooned together, Jim curled around Leonard in their normal sleeping position--at least for the start of the night. By morning, Leonard would have Jim trapped beneath him in some sort of nocturnal tackle. 

“So you’re really moving in?” Jim murmured sleepily against Leonard’s bare shoulder.

“I’m really moving in. Go to sleep, darlin’.”

“I love you, Bones.”

Leonard squeezed the hand he held caught in his. “I love you, too.”

~*~

The End


End file.
